


And If I Stand Next to You

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5), DiamondBlue4



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bonds, Custody Battle, Divorce, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanart, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Long-term Care, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Instability, Mind melds, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post Into Darkness Themes, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, Slow Build, Triumvirate, Vulcan Healers - Freeform, free form
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 179,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondBlue4/pseuds/DiamondBlue4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bones, why did you, really, bring me with you?" Jim asked. "I'm in the way, even here in Georgia." Bones was quiet as the porch swing rocked back and forth, the gentle rain also lulling Jim to sleep. As his eyes closed, he heard Bones' soft voice. "You're not in my way, or anyone else's, Jim. You're here so I can remind you, once and for all, that I just can't leave you behind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. will it be under your umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea has been burning a hole in my mind for awhile, though I know I'm probably one of the last to write a post-Into Darkness recovery fic. Many thanks to Rubyhair for the beta of this chapter! Also, I want to thank Irish Luck for assisting me with the medical aspects of this story, really ironing out a few mistakes and giving me her input, especially concerning McCoy's progress notes. Here is a shout out to Cansei, as well, who is also a great encourager to me through the writing process. 
> 
> I'm posting the bromantic (friendship) version on FF.net to fit in better with my Indigenous series. Here, however, you get the friends to lovers story. :)
> 
> This plot is pretty straightforward, given that the story begins about seven weeks post-Into Darkness. All remaining errors are my own. :)
> 
> FYI, I am no longer on Tumblr but someone decided to take my old username. Nothing I can do about that except warn you that it isn't me. Thank you.

The cup of tea warmed Jim's hands as he watched the doctor let himself in Jim's apartment and hang his jacket on the hook by the door. Something about the way Bones practically threw his two bags on the floor told him that his best friend wasn't in the mood for any of his crap this time.

"Hey, Bones," Jim said, still happier now than he'd been all day. He'd seen only two people the past twenty-four hours - his nurse and therapist. Bones was definitely a step up.

"Jim, sorry I got here a little late."

"'Sfine, so it was five hours later than you said," Jim shrugged. "It's not like I was going anywhere, especially without you."

Bones gave him a small, tense smile. "That'll change soon enough."

"Want some tea? Coffee? Or don't you have time tonight?"

"I'll hang here for the night, actually, if that's okay with you."

Confused, Jim frowned at Bones. "Uh, sure, even though you don't live far from me? Or did you move." He tried to smile, but it fell flat.

"I need to check your vitals through night after I administer the drugs for this treatment," Bones said. "In the morning, I'll get going. Spock and Uhura will come about lunch time, and they'll also take you to your psychologist appointment in the afternoon."

Jim's heart sank. Dammit. _Right_. Drug therapy accompanied by a night of interrupted sleep just like last week. Drug therapy that aggravated his PTSD, taking him right back into the heart of his ship and _dying_. How could he have forgotten that?

"Why does Jocelyn need to talk with you in person, again?" Jim refused to look at doctor and instead, inspected his cup of liquid warmth. Jim wouldn't hold his breath that Bones would tell him the truth. Bones hadn't answered him directly any other time that he'd asked. Why would this time be any different?

"We may have to go into the school and talk with Jojo's teachers," Bones said.

There it was again. A non-answer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bones pull out the artillery. "Seven hypos? Really?" He muttered in disgust.

"If you want to get cleared for duty, you'll do what I, as your personal physician, ask of you, Jim."

Jim could've sworn Bones had already used that line a hundred times to get Jim to cooperate. Jim pulled his eyes from his tea and shot Bones a glare, but his CMO wasn't even looking his way. Even worse, Bones was wearing gloves, which meant these were all for now.

"I'm busy," Jim gritted.

"I can work around you, but it would be best if you set that cup down."

Bones' no-nonsense tone stung. Yeah, Jim knew. Jim knew because some of those hypos hurt like a bitch, and if he jerked or blacked out like before, thanks to his PTSD, the tea would spill. But, he already wasn't feeling too hot, which was why he was drinking weak tea in the first place.

"Can't you just wait? It's just a damn cup of tea," Jim said, exasperated.

He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he turned his back to Bones and made his way to the other room as fast as he could - with the speed of a damn snail. Shoulders slumping, he slipped onto the barstool in the kitchen. He went to place his cup on its saucer, but the fact that his hands were shaking finally registered. Before he could react, the cup slipped out of his hands. The china clattered loudly on the counter, landing on its side and spilling most of the remaining hot liquid.

"Dammit," he breathed out. He tried to right the cup but only managed to set it crookedly on the saucer after three attempts, a sure sign that his nerves were shot. He glared at his hands. Why now of all times? His last episode had been the day he'd been discharged from the hospital.

More than likely Bones had already noticed. These days nothing escaped the eye of the doctor. But Jim also had greater issues to deal with than these annoying tremors, and Bones was at the top of the list. His own short-fuse wasn't going to make this any easier, and he was too exhausted from the PT today to make it to his bedroom and hide from the hypo-wielding doctor. Jim sighed and dropped his head into his hands. His fingers through his hair as he willed the uncontrollable tremors to stop. He was stuck, having absolutely no say in his life right now, and tomorrow Bones was leaving him behind and heading for Georgia for three days.

Jim didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. It was just over a week since his long stint in the hospital. Sure, he wasn't eating like the doctor wanted him to, but he did manage to drink the protein shakes Bones made him. He was in therapy but still walked around like an old man, thanks to his back injury and the lingering effect of the radiation damage to his body. He could do simple things for himself, though for short periods of time only. But, Bones was Bones. He was taking care of things for Jim. Just by being here he comforted Jim. He was always here, every day. If he was gone, it just wouldn't be the same. Jim would have too much time on his hands and start thinking about all the things his therapist wanted to talk to him about, which just so happened to be everything he wanted far from his mind.

Footsteps sounded on the kitchen floor. Jim pulled his hands away from his scalp. He crossed his arms, lifted his head, and locked his shoulders.

"It's better to do it now, Jim," Bones said softly behind him. "We're on a schedule."

"You mean _I'm_ on a schedule," Jim said, barely turning his head to the right ninety degrees. Bones was acting more like a doctor than a best friend. His best friend would let him finish his damn tea.

The doctor ignored his comment. "Let's get to the couch," Bones grasped him gently by the arm, urging him off of the stool and leading him out of the kitchen. "You'll be able to relax better there."

Jim tried to curb his frustration, but he couldn't help but respond in a biting tone. "I was relaxing. With a perfectly hot cup of _tea_."

Never mind that he'd just spilled the damn thing on the counter.

Bones sighed as they reached the couch. "Jim, I have to keep our schedule. It's the best way to treat you and to prevent strain on your heart and other organs as your immunity builds back up. I'll clean up the mess and make you a fresh, hot cup and get you a blanket and pudding when we're done, okay?"

It was strange how something so small made him feel happy again. He became so relaxed that he uncrossed his arms. The doctor's eyes passed over Jim's hands before returning to his face, but Jim wasn't paying attention to what Bones was doing. Jim could practically taste the decadent, creamy texture on his tongue. "Chocolate?" He asked hesitantly as Bones lowered him to his seat.

Bones' smile reached his eyes this time. "Your favorite? Sure. Now, let's get started. Like I've told you before, being tense won't help. Why don't you lie down? It may help, Jim."

"I'm fine," Jim said. He leaned his head against the back of the couch. He just wanted to get this over with.

"Are you sure?" Bones asked quietly.

"Yes," Jim swallowed and dared a look at Bones.

Bones' eyes were warm as he nodded. "Alright. We'll do it your way."

Jim was no stranger to McCoy's gentler bedside manner but it seemed as if the doctor was trying extra hard to make Jim as comfortable as possible. Bones told Jim what he was doing before he did it, relaxing Jim with his soft voice. He spoke of other things, too, although Jim's attention span shortened with each injection and he wasn't completely aware of what Bones was talking about. The first three injections weren't so bad, making Jim only slightly uncomfortable, and his confidence grew. He could do this. Bones was still here in San Francisco, not Atlanta. With Bones here, he'd do this. The injections were staggered, ten minutes between each one, but after the fourth, Jim's vision flared white with stars.

Pain flooded his neck and shoulders, the pricking of a thousand needles which dug into his skin like fiery red ants. For a moment, he couldn't breathe as the fire swept through his body. "Shit," he hissed. "And you're leaving me...for three days?"

Bones' answer was lost in the space around them, when he felt himself falling and hands guiding his head to land on a soft place. He couldn't see anything through the pain, but he could feel everything with a gross exaggeration. The liquid as it pooled at his neck and at his forehead. The ice chips wetting his lips and the cool drops which coursed down his parched throat. The next pinch that came at him like a razor-sharp teeth to his neck, wanting more, just as the warp core had taken all of him. His arms flailing when he was unable to control his movements. The strong arm that wrapped around his chest like a vise, holding him down.

"Jim," Bones murmured in his ear. "Relax, buddy."

Jim didn't know much after that. It could have been minutes or hours. It all blended together into an eternity, between the gasping and gritting his teeth and feeling utterly spent. Suddenly, he was in the warp core, his body burning from the inside out. He was crawling with the last of his willpower and strength to the door. His body was failing, every single last breath he took a laborious, excruciating process as Spock's face faded from his sight.

When someone pressed a cool cloth on his forehead, the world started to right itself again.

"That's it," a voice murmured as he came to some awareness. "You don't need to fight it anymore, Jim."

His heart pounded in his ears, each pulse low and heavy as he tried to make sense of the voice and where he was. His body felt helpless, as if he were pinned to the cushions, but he peeled his eyes open. They fluttered, weak but working against him. He noticed their wetness but didn't remember ever crying.

"I gotcha, Jim," the voice murmured.

At that, Jim caught a glimpse of the face floating above him. The hazel eyes peered at him with concern. "Bones," Jim whispered weakly.

"I'm right here, Jim. I won't leave you. You can let go, now," the doctor said, soothing him.

The soft command was enough for him to listen without reservation, yet even his eyelids pained him as they closed. He took a few more ragged breaths as the deeply imprinted moments before his death faded and, soon, he drifted off to a welcomed darkness.

 

oOo

 

Still at Jim's side, McCoy's shoulders sagged. He kneaded the headache at his temple with his free hand. Damn, that had been bad. Worse than the last time, much worse, and Jim was likely to have an even greater reaction next week to the therapy. Not only that, but he probably wouldn't forget how badly these injections affected him.

McCoy pushed away from the couch and stood to his feet. He didn't have much time and there were things to be done. He gathered what he needed to treat and observe Jim through the night and grabbed a random sandwich from the refrigerator. He swallowed his first bite as he settled in the chair near the couch. The sandwich was the most satisfying thing he'd eaten all day, and he was tempted to eat both that were in the refrigerator. It wasn't like Jim was eating them and they needed to be eaten, anyway. He washed his late meal down with water as quickly as possible. The drug therapy session was fresh in his head. It was best to make his notes before Jim awakened or required his assistance again.

After a cautious look at Jim to check that he was still sleeping, he positioned a PADD on his lap. He refocused his attention on the medical concerns of the man in front of him. This was a balancing act, caring for Jim this way. Friend to doctor, doctor to friend. He never had a problem before and he sure as hell wouldn't let it become a problem now. "Computer, begin progress note, stardate 2259.91. Captain Kirk is a 26-year old human male on his second of five treatments for immune recovery and muscle regeneration following extreme radiation exposure. Drug regimen remains unchanged, and he continues to show moderate discomfort to the injections, with exhaustion following the treatment. Course is complicated by Jim's flashbacks causing him to panic and black out every damn time I inject him..." McCoy paused. "Scratch that. Course is complicated by patient's PTSD, causing dissociation and syncope during the injections. Patient understands the importance of continuing the injections, and is reluctant but adherent. Next treatment is planned in seven days. He shows progress in recovering strength and ADLs, but continues to lose weight. Prior lung infection appears to have resolved, with course of antibiotics finished today, and he remains on prophylaxis. Continues to be followed by PT, OT, and psychiat -"

"No...burns..." Jim whimpered.

McCoy broke off as Jim muttered pitifully in his sleep and began thrashing on the couch. "Computer. Stop progress note," McCoy said swiftly, making a mental note to finish it later. He dropped the device on the floor and knelt by the couch. He reached around Jim's torso not a second too soon and held the younger man down as he almost threw himself off the couch in his sleep. Jim fought him with surprising strength, more than McCoy expected him to have even while experiencing this sort of episode. It took all of the doctor's strength and more than a few minutes before the captain's body went limp and he fell back onto the couch.

"Jesus, Jim," McCoy said breathlessly, still latched on to the captain. He lifted himself up off Jim's chest, careful not to jar his body and hurt him. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow, shaking his head as he observed his patient. Jim looked peaceful now, but McCoy wasn't fooled. It wouldn't last long. It never did. He moved quickly.

He went straight to Jim's bedroom closet. The tattered sleeping bag from their Academy days that Jim still wouldn't throw away remained in the closet, as well as an extra pillow. He pulled them out and set up his make-shift bed on the floor beside the couch. He stretched out on the bed, not relaxed, but neither was he as tense as he'd been for the past twelve hours, working at Starfleet General while worrying about Jim. His mind and body met him somewhere in the middle, and rather than trying to get the sleep he desperately needed, he waited. He waited and thought of Jim hiding the neurogenic tremors from him. He thought of following Jim into the kitchen an hour earlier and watching the cup fall from his hands. He thought of giving him space, and holding back any comment about the tremors until morning. He thought of informing Jim's psychologist of the issue and pressing Jim to revisit the exercises to try to stop the tremors from occurring. He thought of all that he had to do to watch and care for Jim, and tried to ignore the issue which was pulling him to Georgia tomorrow.

McCoy's thoughts never stopped. He knew from experience that Jim would need him again, probably in less than an hour. Jim would need his doctor to monitor his health and make sure he didn't fall off of the couch, and McCoy would be ready.

 

oOo

Jim couldn't figure out where he was when he opened his eyes next. His body ached so badly, he almost didn't even care. They could take him where they wanted to take him. He really had no say in the matter. He stared up at the ceiling, stuck in his cycle of bleary thoughts, a cycle he hated, until someone noticed he was awake, which wasn't long at all.

"Hey," a voice said to his right.

"'ones," Jim tried to speak. He swallowed, but even that hurt. "Time?"

"It's a little past midnight. You've been asleep for two hours since you woke up the last time," Bones explained. Jim's brow furrowed. He didn't even remember waking up before. "Think you can take a few sips of water?"

His throat was far too dry. Jim winced in response, but nodded. A hand gently supported his neck as he lifted himself up a few inches. A straw was placed in his mouth and he took four sips then shook his head.

"You need more than that, Jim, but we'll try next time I take a blood sample. I think the pinch of the needle woke you up this time."

Jim's eyes closed. "No more," he said roughly, meaning no to absolutely everything.

Bones sighed. "I wish that were the case, buddy, but we have to continue..."

Jim pushed the doctor's voice aside. It was always the same talk, anyway, every single time. He allowed the sleep to pull him back under, where he didn't have to deal with what his life had become or where he feared it was going - a life with the doctor but without his best friend.

 

oOo

 

McCoy zipped up his coat before taking one more last look at the man out like a light on the couch. The next three very long days wouldn't leave much time for communication. Jim knew he was leaving this morning. They'd talked about it last night before the drug therapy. Well, McCoy had, to an extent. Jim had grown silent and moody, and then proceeded to complain that McCoy was leaving him just two weeks out of the hospital. Yet here he was...fast asleep without a care in the world. But could McCoy blame him? Last night's drug therapy had been hard on Jim. He hadn't budged from the couch since.

Hell, last night had been hard on McCoy. He was no stranger to the workings of Jim's mind, and PTSD was nothing to mess with. He knew exactly what had been going through Jim's head during the treatment. and that's why he'd made his bed on the floor by the couch, not moving from Jim's side until this morning. The injections evoked Jim's memories of the warp core, as if McCoy needed one more damn thing to feel guilty about, and nothing could've pulled him away from Jim last night.

The drug therapy was a crucial factor in maintaining the health and healing of Jim's body. They'd had to wait to begin the drug therapy until Jim's heart and lungs were stronger. They could not skip these weekly treatments, but just thinking of putting him through that again made the weight of McCoy's guilt almost unbearable. Jim's state of mind deeply concerned him, as did the fact that Jim had not mentioned the obvious return of his neurogenic tremors. Jim's hands had finally stilled as McCoy talked him through the first two injections. It was an issue. There were steps to resolve it - as well as time.

He could just imagine Jim's reaction, but he didn't want to imagine it. He wanted to do whatever he could to help him move beyond it, but Jim was at a point where some things had become easier yet other things had become a hell of a lot worse. The result? A man very close to his breaking point.

McCoy simply couldn't leave like this. He checked the chronometer and seeing that he could spare another five minutes, sat down right on the couch on the small empty space beside Jim. His hair was mussed from sleep and slightly wet. When McCoy saw a sheen of sweat on his face, he pressed the back of his hand on Jim's forehead. The younger man's skin warmed his fingers.

A frown crossed McCoy's face. "Dammit, Jim," he whispered. Jim had just recently overcome an unexpected infection. It was why McCoy felt comfortable leaving him in the care of other Starfleet General personnel and also Spock and Uhura.

McCoy's hands were tied. He had to leave for these three short days. Jocelyn had made sure of it. They had to talk about Joanna, she'd said. Sensing it was serious, although Jocelyn wouldn't give him a straight answer, he was also meeting his lawyer in Georgia. He'd misled Jim or left him in the dark about these particular facts for good reason. When it came to Joanna, Jim was quite protective and he didn't need the added stress on top of recovering from the irradiation. And when it came to Joanna - and to Jim - McCoy was like putty. When it came to Joanna and Jim and they were both needing him at the same time, he was absolutely split in half. Leaving Jim killed him.

Glazed eyes peered up at him. "Bones."

"Jim, ya got a fever, but luckily it's not as high as before," McCoy said. He ran his hand along Jim's cheek, feeling guilty when the captain sighed and leaned into his touch. Every time McCoy did something for him, it resulted in some nasty side effect.

"Cool. Nice," Jim muttered.

McCoy allowed his hand to rest on Jim's cheek to provide him a little more comfort, but only for a moment. He pulled out the tricorder in the bag slung at his hip. Soon, it showed him the readings he expected but the good news was that it wasn't another infection. "Head hurt? A little achy?"

Jim barely nodded.

"It's a side effect of the meds, Jim," McCoy said. He'd told him this through the night, but Jim had hardly been lucid when awake. "Should wear off in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Jim's face dropped.

"If only I could take ya with me," McCoy said under his breath. The glazed eyes peering up at him somehow brightened. "Hell, I'm not serious, kid."

"Please?" Jim's rasp was hardly the voice of a well man.

"I can't," McCoy decided, stretching the truth a little. He was Jim's doctor and knew every precaution to take. "Your immunity suffered, Jim, and even though we've made great progress, we are continuing to build it back up because you are still susceptible. We have to be careful."

"Thought it was over. Done with being careful." Jim's mumbling was practically snuffed out completely when he burrowed his face into his pillow.

"No, no done." McCoy stood and went to the counter where all he needed to take the edge off Jim's fever and pain was at his reach.

"Radiation sucks," Jim croaked.

The augment's blood had done a lot of good for Jim, but it was like Jim's body was starting over after all of the extensive damage, and that's where modern medicine stepped in. McCoy sighed as he pulled the medication he needed and then returned to Jim's side. "Jim, I'm not sure I feel right leaving you here, even though it's nothing too serious. Maybe admitting you to Starfleet Gener-"

"No way," Jim croaked again. "Just spent six weeks there, Bones."

Two of which had been in a coma. McCoy thought again. Jim was more mobile than even a week ago. He was also comfortable here at his quarters. He was even more comfortable with McCoy's mother than with either of the exceptional nurses who made their rounds here.

"Please?" Jim's baby blues filled with pleading.

"You are a pain in the ass, Jim," McCoy grouched and leaned over him. He sank the hypo in Jim's neck. "I can't go take care of things with Jocelyn and Joanna if you're here all pathetic."

Jim winced. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be such a baby. It's just...I trust you."

McCoy put his hands on his hips. Of all things for Jim to say, that was the one to get him to bend. McCoy sighed. His mama kept a clean house, and Jim would be sleeping most of the time. "You have to do everything I say, Jim."

Jim's eyes widened. "You mean, I'm going with you?" He whispered. "I don't have to stay with Franco?"

"Frances." McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Nurse Francesco does sound better."

McCoy smiled a little to humor him. "Since I know I can get the authorization, I'll secure private Starfleet Medical transport for us. You may be somewhat miserable during the ride to my mama's house but you may sleep through most of it, anyway. I know you'll be carrying on a lot less if you're with me. It'll at least save Spock and Uhura from hearing you complain, and my mama can keep her eye on you so I don't get distracted. We'll take other precautions, but it won't be any different than being here once you get there. I'll stop at SFG to pick up a few things we may need and we'll meet the shuttle there."

Jim practically melted as McCoy finished with his plan. "You really mean..."

"...that you've wrapped me around your finger?" McCoy said in exasperation. "For God sake's, yes, Jim. You wrapped me around all ten."

"It's 'cuz you like having me around." Jim smiled with his eyes closed. "Admit it."

"You're my lucky penny," McCoy replied.

"See? You like being with me."

McCoy shook his head at him. "I better go pack a bag for you, and comm the nurse that's coming this morning. I'll also contact Spock and Uhura to tell them about the change of plans so they don't stop by later today, only to find you missing. I can just imagine Spock's reaction."

Jim grunted in response. "He's not going to like that you're taking me somewhere far away from Starfleet General."

"He'll live, and we will be near a hospital," McCoy scowled. Jim's first had gotten a little overprotective of Jim, but who was McCoy to talk?

"Don't forget the unicorns," Jim mumbled.

"You still wear those? They'll fall right off of ya, these days," McCoy's scowl deepened. When Joanna had picked those unicorn and bear printed pjs out for Jim, the same pattern Joanna herself loved, the younger man had had about fifteen more kilos on him.

"I just...like them," Jim said, his cheeks looking even pinker, and not from the fever.

McCoy dropped his scowl, feeling a little guilty. He knew that, of course, and how could Jim not like them? Sadly, McCoy had learned from Pike it'd been the first gift Jim had received since the tender age of eight. "Take a bathroom break. Then, drink _all_ of that water I left for you earlier that you didn't drink, you infant. I'll get a bag of your things ready for you."

"What water?" Jim stared at him with big eyes, as if he didn't know there was a glass right in front of him, on his damn coffee table. And as if his head hurt and he had a fever.

McCoy kicked himself. He really should be giving Jim some slack, especially after a night like he had. "The glass sitting right beside you on your coffee table, Jim."

"Oh, right. And my bag...Thanks."

"Don't mention it," McCoy said. He inclined his head to the flushed captain. "Think you can get up on your own?"

"Yeah." Jim set his jaw and began to pull himself up off the couch. Thinking of the difficult injections of the night before, McCoy lent him a hand anyway.

He slipped an arm around Jim's waist, just in time to stop the pants from falling off his hips. While Jim stood, getting used to being upright after spending so much time on the couch, McCoy pulled the strings on the younger man's sweatpants.

"Bones," Jim whined in protest, his trembling hands closing into loose fists.

"What? Ya want them at your ankles?" McCoy arched a brow at him and tied the strings for him. Jim flushed more. McCoy quickly decided that many things were going on this morning and making a big deal right now about the tremors may not be for the best. Not yet. When they got to his mama's house, that was a different story. "Aren't these your new ones?" And supposedly two sizes smaller to fit Jim's thinner form?

"Maybe," Jim mumbled.

"I think I need to find you another pair of new ones. I bet my mama will get you to eat," McCoy muttered under his breath. That was one promising thing about this so-called field trip.

"That's why you're bringing me? To fatten me up?" Jim grimaced. "Bones, you know I still can't stomach most stuff."

"You forget how much you love my mama's cookin'," McCoy reminded him. Jim pulled away and began to make his way slowly towards his bathroom. "I'm sure she'll have something you'll like."

The way Jim walked, strangely reminded McCoy of a man walking the plank to his death. After watching him make it to the bathroom in one piece, McCoy quickly collected Jim's things. The pajamas that his daughter had given him for Christmas almost three years ago were in their regular spot in his drawer, folded with extra care. Over the years, and especially after he'd become captain, Jim had grown into being a neat freak. Well, his tendency had been neatness. Jim still struggled with having the energy to do much at all. His usual knack for tidiness had been tossed out along with the trash, including folding or putting away his clothing unless McCoy was here to assist him or housekeeping did it. McCoy hadn't seen them around, which meant that more than likely, Jim hadn't touched this treasured gift since before his irradiation. In fact, McCoy was pretty sure it'd been close to four months since he'd seen Jim wear these. Usually, he wore them when McCoy was around and they hung out as best friends for a night, instead of as captain and CMO, maybe taking the rare opportunity to watch a movie.

And then it hit him, right in the gut. It had been just as long since he'd spent time with Jim as his best friend, even before Jim's irradiation. Now, McCoy fit the image of the strict doctor and Jim the not so agreeable patient. Jim's recent moodiness and McCoy's pure determination to get Jim well often mixed like oil and water.

The last thought a little troubling, he placed the pajamas on top of everything else in Jim's bag before zipping it up.

 

oOo

 

While Bones was talking to Spock on the comm, Jim unzipped his bag and peered inside. They were there. He sighed with relief. His own sentimental attachment to them right now confused him, but they did remind him of happier times, and the last few weeks had been a little rough. For the most part, it was his own fault. He knew he was grumpy and taking it out on Bones. He was discouraged about his current lot in life, the remaining treatments to get his body whole and working properly. The hours spent in therapy. His body that hurt. The medication that hurt. Without even trying, really, he was making things difficult for his best friend, who was doing all he could to get Jim well. This morning was maybe the first time they hadn't bitten each other's head off. And although that was a good sign that Bones had forgiven him for the general bad mood he maintained, Jim had to make sure he hadn't messed things up too badly.

Maybe this little outing was going to make things better between them. It had to.

"Ready?"

Jim wouldn't have been able to cover his daydreaming even if he'd wanted to. He jumped at Bones' voice and, of course, lost his balance. His breath hitched as the doctor first caught then steadied him.

"Ya alright?" Bones held him up with both his hands, to Jim's chagrin.

Jim bit off a retort that he wasn't a delicate flower. He'd already used that one this week and it hadn't gone over well. Instead, he focused on the comfort of the doctor's hands on his shoulders.

"So your mom's okay with this?" Jim asked, hating that it sounded like he was whining and desperate.

Or maybe it was that he just sounded a little lost and needy, which was way worse.

But the way Bones pulled him close and wrapped his arm around Jim's shoulder, walking him out of his apartment, meant everything in the world to him.

"Of course she is. Didn't hesitate at all," Bones said. "By the way, I rescheduled your appointment with Dr. Cross that was today for Monday." Jim didn't have the energy to even respond this time but he moved his feet forward. He struggled to stay on his feet again when Bones pulled him in the opposite direction. "Not that way, Jim. We'll take the lift."

Though Jim felt like shit, he could probably walk out to the hover car mostly on his own. But, this was an opportunity if there ever was one, and he leaned on the doctor more than what was necessary. This was what he missed between them. This was what being a patient who'd died had done to him. Goddamnit, this was what dying had done. Taken away Bones' shoulder. He couldn't even recall the last time Bones had allowed himself get so close to him like this, tucking Jim against his side. He didn't even think Bones himself knew that by tending to and worrying constantly over Jim's health, he'd actually had pulled away from Jim.

The distance was more than he'd anticipated. Too tired to stand upright, Jim rested his head on Bones' shoulder once they'd made it to the hovercar and waited for the door to open on his side. "Easy, Jim," the doctor said, maneuvering Jim's body carefully inside.

Jim's eyes shut on their own accord once he was in his seat. Head heavy, he barely registered Bones placing a pillow beside his head and fixing the support pillow behind his back. "Bones, I really hadn't wanted you to give me a sedative," he said, voice waning.

"I didn't. It's all you, pal," Bones said before he went to the other side.

"Wanted to...stay up...to keep you comp'ny," he mumbled when Bones slid in the seat beside him. "Least I could do..."

Maybe it was all he was worth, lately.

 

oOo

 

"Company," McCoy muttered.

Didn't that just say it all. Jim had reduced himself to...company.

Was that how McCoy had been treating him? Other than being his patient? But also... cold?

"Jim, I know I've been a pushy doctor lately, but...you being here, again, alive...it's enough. I'm an idiot not treating you like the person you are to me, my best frie - " McCoy glanced at Jim and his voice immediately dimmed. Jim's head had already dropped against the pillow.

McCoy sighed and watched Jim take a few deep, sleeping breaths. It figured. He hadn't heard a lick of what he'd said. After starting the hovercar, he tuned into the weather, quickly learning that a thunderstorm would pass over his mama's house tomorrow. If anything, Eleanora McCoy's house was the perfect place to hide from a storm.

He drove on autopilot, much like he'd been living these past seven weeks. Maybe it was for the best that Jim hadn't heard. The timing wasn't right. Maybe Jim needed to be well before he even tried to apologize.

Maybe the things McCoy had to say were simply best left for a rainy day.


	2. will you hear what I'm not saying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm so sorry I couldn't update sooner! Hopefully, next time won't take so long! September came and made everything 100% crazier around here.
> 
> Many thanks to Rubyhair, my beta, for giving this a look over! :)

Bones made a sharp turn into the driveway to the farmhouse. Not bothering to lift his head from his pillow, Jim squinted out the shaded window of the rental craft that Bones had secured before they'd arrived in Atlanta. The sunny day was nothing like Jim's mood, and even though the window was tinted, he almost didn't want to look out.

But he did, and the ever-present ache lodged in his chest. Mrs. McCoy's house seemed larger than Jim remembered but that wasn't saying much. Most things appeared bigger to Jim now simply because his life seemed so insignificant, or so small. Or so damn _fragile_. Bones had risked his career for Jim and although Jim would never forget that, he couldn't stop thinking the way he did about himself. And if Bones knew? Jim exhaled a slow rush of air as he thought of the consequences. His friend would feel like something had slugged him. It would be the worst wound, and he couldn't hurt Bones that way, not the very man who'd put himself in the line of fire. So, as always, Jim stuffed it inside like he always did and swallowed back his fear as if his life depended upon it. And it did. He'd rather die than Bones know any of these messed up, twisted ideas of his that made no sense.

The craft shut off, the sudden stillness shattering his self-loathing musings.

Jim was with the doctor, at Bones' childhood home, away from reminders of their troubles and nowhere near San Francisco, and that was all that mattered, he told himself.

"You're awake," the voice beside him said, sounding happy.

Why did Bones have to be so damn cheerful? Happy Bones only made him feel even smaller.

"Sorry," Jim mumbled, instantly berating himself for wishing Bones' happiness away. He might as well get it over with and take the "shittiest friend award" for the year. Hell, he'd probably already earned one for lifetime achievement.

"Sorry? For sleeping all that time?" Bones said. "Jim, recovering from what you went through isn't easy. When you look at the big picture, it's been a relatively short time."

"Seven weeks," Jim muttered.

That wasn't a short time. Other than treatments and sleeping and PT and OT, he had nothing to do. No one _allowed_ him to do anything, especially Bones _and_ Spock, which made it longer. Seven weeks on the _Enterprise_ was busy. It was his home. It was full. Here, without his command but always worrying about what he was doing and whether or not the doctor allowed it? Without anything constructive to do? Time went by at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Only five of which you've been awake, recovering, like I said..."

Jim shook his head and glanced at his friend. It was the same old story, and Bones was giving him the same piteous look.

"Bones...maybe...I shouldn't have asked to do this." Jim turned his head back to the big farmhouse outside the craft. If it seemed this large to him out here, he couldn't imagine what he'd feel like trying to climb the front porch steps.

"You didn't necessarily ask. I volunteered to do this because this, what you're going through, isn't a journey you take on your own," Bones said. "You need people, Jim, to make the best recovery possible. Your therapists, Spock and Ny, even house cleaning. I see the way that you perk up when people are around to talk to ya, and while I'm taking care of a few things, my mama will be one of those people, Jim."

The words weren't exactly what he wanted to hear. Jim swallowed with difficulty, the cool speech of the doctor threatening his composure. Maybe what he needed wasn't people. He needed...he _wanted_...his friend, the one who didn't worry that he was going to break when someone breathed on him funny.

"Is that Joce's hovercraft?" Jim asked, finding himself a little awed at the craft in front of them.

Something sleek and expensive sat at Eleanora's front door. His fascination quickly vanished when he realized that it took the best spot to gain access to the house. The small hill that they'd have to use instead to get to the front steps loomed ahead like a mountain.

Bones groaned. "I told her I'd meet her there."

"The school?" Jim forced his head up and leaned it back against the seat.

"Yeah." Bones didn't look at him. "Jim, I'm going to get you set up in one of the bedrooms before I go. I will have to run an IV line or two, including electrolytes and replacement fluids, just to be on the safe side. I don't want to start this trip off with you dehydrated."

"I ate." Jim hated to constantly be on the defense, but it was hard when Bones was always speaking to him like a doctor and picking apart all that he did.

"A piece of toast," Bones said with a dry smile. "Half of one, and you gagged down only a little of the water."

Jim's stomach churned with the mere mention of the toast. "I just...I can't."

"It's probably the meds, both the injections last night and the meds this morning," Bones admitted.

Jim clenched his jaw until it hurt. God, he hated those injections. The pills. This endless cycle.

"Tomorrow will be better," Bones said, probably to assure him, but Jim wasn't sure a day would make a difference. "Maybe even tonight."

"Okay." Jim nodded, glancing over at Jocelyn's hovercar. "Let's get this over with."

Bones snorted. "With Jocelyn, nothing is just over with. I apologize now for anything she may say to ya, Jim."

Bones got out of the craft and came to Jim's door a minute later, two bags slung on his shoulder and looking more energetic than any singular person Jim had seen all week. Jim wondered how long it would actually take for him to have the same amount of energy. As it stood now...never.

The doctor looked down at him, his expression clearly concerned. Jim looked back up at him, hating himself.

"I'll give you a hand the entire way into the house, alright?" Bones said. Jim was pushing himself out of the seat without too much trouble but the doctor reached for him and again, Jim used this to his advantage.

But after the first few steps, he realized there really wasn't an advantage at all. Walking absolutely sucked, especially up this incline. Medication sucked. Sleepless nights did, too, and everything bothered him, especially the sweat pouring off his face like a bucket of it had been dumped on his head. He stopped and took a moment to wipe his forehead, grimacing at the sweat under his arms that he couldn't do anything about. "I think I need a second shower."

"I'll be able to help you with that when I get back. I shouldn't be too long." Bones locked his grip on Jim's arm as they maneuvered around Jocelyn's craft. "Jim, if you don't think..."

He had to move, that's what he thought. He knew he had to get off his ass. His physical therapist was relentless about that. He had to move to maintain any type of progress. "It's fine. I'll get there, just not in the form of running."

"Your fever is gone," Bones said, as if that made everything better, and from the doctor's point of view, it probably was a win.

The doctor's hand pressed against Jim's back, supporting him as he took the porch steps with extreme care.

"There'll be a bed set up for you on the first floor, Jim," Bones murmured in his ear. "So it's just little bit and then twenty meters or so into the house."

If he could make it to the damn door. "Jesus, Bones, what did you put in those hypos this morning," Jim sucked in a deep breath before taking the next step. His legs felt like bricks.

"I believe the drug therapy from last night has worn you out," Bones said, then hesitated. "Quite frankly, Jim, I can see a lot of sleeping in your future."

Jim really didn't mind being tired now, because even if Bones wasn't around all that much during this little visit, his mom would be around. If anyone reminded him of Bones, it was her. He took two more steps, then closed his eyes when he stood on the porch, noticing something different. Bones' mother had planted something new since the last time Jim was here. What was it? Something fresh and almost invigorating, something Jim hadn't experienced for a long time. The doctor kept his hand at the small of his back as he hesitated. Without it, Jim would have simply fallen back off the step. Without it, he would have never stepped forward when Eleanora McCoy beamed widely from the opened door.

She rushed out, a smile for both of them, but her eyes first swept over Bones. "Oh, my boys," she exclaimed, the emotion in her eyes strong but changing, especially when she looked at Jim.

As soon as he saw the concern in her eyes, his mouth felt like cotton was stuck to it. The same worry was in her eyes that he'd seen in Bones', but a hundred times greater. Nora moved towards him with ease and her opened arms folded around Jim first, thanks to Bones' forward nudge. She embraced him just as warmly as she always had but with a little more caution. "It's so good to see you, James."

Jim's eyes began to burn as she let go of him. _James_. The only other person who'd called him was now dead.

 _Dead_.

"It's..." Jim couldn't believe he was gone, that he'd missed his funeral. He'd never gotten to pay his respects. He shouldn't even _have_ to pay his respects. Pike should be _here_. He should be alive and... Jim had been too late and... "It's good to..." Jim let out a shaky breath, liquid seeping from his eyes anyway and trailing down his face. He wouldn't call them tears. He had no business crying, did he? Not when he was alive and _fragile_.

The hand that was supporting Jim's back now gripped his shoulder. Jim turned his head to hide his face, and his cheek accidentally brushed against the top of the doctor's knuckles. A tear slipped down Jim's cheek, and a calloused thumb wiped it away. Jim closed his eyes at the touch and leaned into the doctor's hand as a few other stray tears fell. The wetness gathered there on his cheek, until the doctor brushed the rest away with unexpected tenderness.

Jim held his breath. Bones had never done something like that before for Jim, not really. Sure, he'd carded his hands through Jim's hair, but that had mostly been when he'd been in a bed and in sickbay recovering from one thing or another. But this, wiping tears, it was personal and maybe even intimate. It was something Jim wanted to experience more of...but not now. Jim exhaled slowly and cleared his throat. He had to compose himself, and he did, but barely.

"It's okay," Eleanora whispered, clutching Jim's now shaking hands. "You can let it out right here, with us, or you can wait. Whatever you want."

Remembering he was only a tag-along for this visit and that Jocelyn lurked somewhere in the house, Jim shook his head.

"That's just fine," Nora murmured. "Once Leonard has you settled in your room, I'll stop by with some tea, if you want."

Something cold sounded good, but he wasn't sure if Bones would want him to stay awake. He didn't know if he would be able to _stay_ awake. So he looked at the doctor before he could stop himself.

Jim swallowed. This was what he was now. A patient completely dependent on the doctor standing in front of him.

Bones nodded. "If he can keep his eyes open, I imagine something to cool to quench his thirst may hit the spot. We had a little bit of a detour coming up to the steps."

Nora sighed as she saw the craft. "I didn't know she'd parked there," she said, "or I would have asked her to move."

"I'm not sure asking her for anything right now is too smart," Bones groused.

"Leonard," Nora breathed, as she wrapped her arms around her son. She hugged him, then looked him in the eye. "Maybe this visit will help."

"It's not necessarily a 'visit,'" Bones said, eyes averted from Jim.

Jim frowned. Why _was_ Bones here? He really hadn't explained anything about it to Jim.

"You're late," a low-toned, feminine voice said.

Jim inwardly cringed. He'd hoped he'd make a clean entrance into the house before seeing Bones' ex.

The clipped words made Jim cringe even more when he peered past Nora and actually saw who'd spoken them. Jocelyn stood right at the door with her arms crossed as if she'd owned the doorway, her mouth pulled tightly down into a frown.

"I'm right on time," Bones said evenly. "Actually, ten minutes ahead of schedule."

"We should get moving," she said, lifting her chin.

"After I settle Jim into his room," Bones replied with an edge to his voice.

Jocelyn's gaze went to Jim as if she was seeing him for the first time. Jim's body stiffened on its own as she literally inspected him head to toe, sweaty hair and clothes and all.

"You look like death warmed over," Jocelyn commented, her eyes still sweeping over Jim. "Maybe you should've stayed in bed, so you don't put yourself in a grave."

Nora inhaled sharply, and the _not tears_ that Jim had just shed, threatened to spill again. Had she always been this bitchy? Jim didn't remember her being quite like this, so something must be bothering her. He owed Bones big time so he kept his mouth shut...well, almost.

"Nice to see you, too, Jocelyn," he proudly managed with only one crack to his voice.

"Joce, could you just...for once..." Bones' voice was close to snarling.

"For once...what? He doesn't look well, Leonard," she said, looking put out, as if she was the one who had the medical degree.

"You just don't say something like that to someone who did - " Jim's heart jumped to his throat as Bones almost revealed classified information about his death and subsequent resurrection, but Bones clamped his mouth shut just in time.

Jocelyn directed a frown at Bones. The doctor drew a large breath, only to exhale it with gusto.

"Never mind," Bones said, scowling.

When Jocelyn's gaze darted back to Jim, he briefly through he'd do anything to be able to run and hide in one of the nooks and crannies of the old farmhouse. His face had to look horrible. Red. Puffy. Showing signs of his damn tears. He was also too thin, basically a shell of his former self, because the depression he felt now wasn't something he really remembered ever feeling before. He didn't have life in him, but it wasn't because he wasn't trying. He tried damn hard, especially when he had PT. He just didn't try very hard on days like the one he was having.

But then he'd had it with the ex's blatant staring and her rudeness to Bones. Who told her she could rule the conversation? He turned back to his best friend, ignoring her.

"Bones? You can help me get settled, then you and the bi- " Jim stopped himself before he said what he wanted to and made things a million times worse. "... _two_ of you can get going."

Bones certainly did not look at Jim carefully and arch his brow at him as if he'd heard what Jim didn't say. "Right," he said, turning to scowling woman in the doorway. "Joce, if you don't mind, I have most of that ten minutes left and I do need to get Jim comfortable in the spare room on the first floor."

"Fine. I'd prefer for us to ride together so we can talk. I'll wait in my hovercraft, while you make Jim all cozy and at home in the room we used on our wedding night," Jocelyn said, without another look at any of them. Her heels clicked rapidly down the front steps towards her expensive craft, her suit and satchel gleaming just like her craft in the sun.

Jim had nothing to say in reply to that. Neither did Bones. The doctor stood, his face darkening like a storm was rolling in.

Jim looked closer at his best friend and saw, maybe for the first time, the strain of all these weeks in those hazel eyes. He also, but not for the first time, wanted to punch a woman. Lenore Karidian was at the top of that list. Jocelyn may now be coming in at a close second.

"What a welcome, huh?" Jim said to his two silent companions. "I don't know about you, but I think this calls for some booze. I call dibs on the first toast to exes, of marriage or otherwise."

Jim inwardly shivered. As bad as Jocelyn was, Jim didn't think she'd ever tried to kill Bones like Lenore had Jim.

"There'll be no alcoholic drinks for you, you moron," Bones scowled as Nora's mouth twitched with quiet laughter. "And most certainly not on your diet."

"It was worth a shot," Jim said, then when no one said a word, "Get it? Shot?"

"I think you need some shut eye. That was the worst joke you've ever told," Bones groaned. "It hurt my ears, kid.

It had been pretty lame, but Jim would've said anything to break the tension after that fucked up awkwardness.

"Your complaining is hurting _my_ ears," Jim quipped back.

"Come on," Bones sighed, but there was maybe a smile on his lips as he put his arm around Jim's waist. "Let's get inside."

The doctor urged him to take a step. He obeyed and tried not to lean so much against Bones this time, but it turned out he really couldn't help it. His back screamed with pain, the ache radiating from side to side at every movement.

His body pitched forward of its own accord. "Bones," he whispered, panicked that he was falling.

But a second pair of arms slipped around him. Barely hearing the words spoken over him, Jim couldn't find the strength or willpower to stay on his feet.

"Hold on for a few more steps, Jim," Bones murmured. "Almost there."

 

oOo

 

McCoy and his mother all but carried Jim into the spare bedroom and onto the bed.

Jim's eyes closed as he sat slumped on the edge of the bed. His hands shook as he pulled at the shirt sticking to his skin. Eleanora glanced at McCoy in question.

"He's not feverish. He just got a little overheated walking up to the door," he said quietly to his mother. She looked pointedly at Jim's hands. McCoy sighed and ran his hands over his face. Only for the intervention of his mother had Jocelyn not seen the tremors.

"That conversation certainly didn't help matters, did it?" Eleanora said in a low voice.

That conversation had come at the worst time possible.

"Jim, I think you'll feel better if we remove your shirt," McCoy said a little louder.

"Okay," Jim mumbled.

McCoy first took hold of the bottom of Jim's sweat-drenched shirt. He was ready to ask him to raise his arms, but stopped when the captain leaned his head up against his chest. Perspiration from Jim's forehead seeped through McCoy's shirt and onto his own skin, and he quickly realized Jim's exhaustion had reached a new level. McCoy let go of the shirt and pulled one of Jim's arms out of an armhole instead. With the shirt half-off, Jim's head pressed into McCoy's chest again like a weight, his breathing just as heavy.

"Jimbo, you have to help me out a little, alright?" McCoy asked in a soft voice.

Jim made a small noise in his throat and moved back a hairsbreadth. McCoy tugged the shirt off the other arm with a little difficulty and carefully guided it over the younger man's head. When he was done, Jim was leaning on him as before.

"He needs a nice, long bath," his mother whispered in his ear. Yet, out of nowhere, she handed him a soft, warm cloth that smelled clean and fresh. "It would make a world of difference for him, Leonard."

"When I get back," McCoy said quietly as he wiped the rest of the sweat off of Jim Kirk's face and neck. The younger man's lashes fluttered a bit, and his shoulders curved inward. "He needs intravenous therapy."

His mother gave him a sideways glance and shook her head as she took off Jim's shoes, the left one first. A look of mortification stole over Jim's face and he opened his eyes wide.

"Sorry," Jim said weakly to Nora with what seemed to be an adrenaline-induced desire to speak. "I swear. Yesterday, I was able to take off my own shoes...and tell better jokes."

"Shh, son, don't you worry," she said, hushing him. "I've seen and heard a lot over the years. Did Leonard ever tell you I was a nurse for ten years, when his dad and I were first married?"

Jim's eyes turned bright with curiosity. "No," he murmured.

"Well, I was, and I've also been volunteering at a local clinic for the past six months. I know a thing or two about caring for independent, strong men like you," his mother said. "And I also know you don't need to wear those pants under the covers, but you're too exhausted to take them off yourself. Lie down, Jim."

Jim's face froze for a split second. McCoy held his breath, expecting a sour remark from Jim, but then the captain's shoulders relaxed and he did as she asked.

"You see, Jim," she said, unbuttoning and tugging the captain's pants down his hips. Jim's eyes never left her face. "It's okay to heal, and it's okay to take the time that you need to come back to yourself. You're not weak, you're learning how to handle yourself in the world again and see where you fit in." She paused and straightened and looked at him square in the eye. "It takes a pretty strong man do that, don't you think?"

Jim blinked several times, but then gave her one, slow nod.

McCoy stood back as she single-handedly managed the situation, allowing him the time to set up Jim's IV. The delivery from Starfleet medical was already set up in the corner, but he still double-checked everything. Jim's life was still in his hands and he wasn't about to screw something up during a simple visit. In fact, McCoy had a mind to make it a week, to give themselves both the rest and relaxation they needed away from San Francisco.

"I'm taking a lot of time," he heard Jim say in a rasp lined with fatigue. "I'm not...strong."

"We all deal with trauma differently, and then we deal with each trauma a little bit differently than we handle others," Nora replied softly. "I suspect that a day will come when you will look back at this and see how resilient and determined you really were through it all and how proud we are of you."

McCoy paused. Had he ever told Jim he was proud of him?

He turned around just in time to see Jim's brow crease. The captain didn't say a word as he observed Nora's every move. Now much cooler and wearing only his boxers, Jim did look more comfortable than even five minutes ago. His mother swiftly pulled the covers up over him, the blue quilt exactly what Jim liked in a blanket. Jim closed his eyes, a look of happiness crossing his face as he settled in under the quilt.

"Don't fall asleep yet. Arms out, captain," she said. "Your doctor needs access to those veins."

Jim raised his arms a bit, allowing her to tuck the blanket under his arms.

McCoy came beside Jim and prepped his left arm. Jim stared right at him with a growing anxiety in his eyes. McCoy tried not to notice when the happiness all but disappeared. His hand stilled, and he gently squeezed the younger man's arm. "My mama will check on these while I'm gone, and when I come back, I will draw you a bath, alright?"

"Okay," Jim said thinly.

"How's the pain in your back?" McCoy murmured without looking up. "On a scale of one to ten, with five being somewhat bearable and ten, off the charts," he added, though he knew a four or five from Jim Kirk usually meant anything from an eight to a ten.

"Five," Jim mumbled. McCoy glanced at him then, softening his gaze. Jim almost looked embarrassed at the admission.

"It's okay, Jim. We did a lot of traveling today," McCoy assured him. "I'll add a slow drip of a mild pain medication to keep you comfortable. I'll be able to keep an eye on it from my PADD."

Jim's eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks," he whispered.

"I want you to be able to sleep," McCoy said quietly. "And be at ease while I'm gone."

Jim nodded. His eyes were already closing.

"Okay, this will pinch," McCoy explained, although Jim knew very well how this worked.

Nora tucked in another edge of the quilt around Jim's body. Jim was a very tactile person, which was why the quilt at this point in time was a miracle and a perfect distraction. Jim burrowed his face in its softness right before McCoy inserted the needle.

Jim's face practically disappeared under the quilt as McCoy worked. Another moment and he had three lines with fluids or medication coursing into his patient that would continue on through the the next few hours, with his mother's help.

McCoy finished taping the tubing to Jim's arm. He sighed and gently laid Jim's hand back on the quilt. Somehow in the middle of it all, Jim had fallen right to sleep.

McCoy pulled the quilt away from the captain's face. "Needs to be able to breathe, at least," he muttered when his mother cocked her head at him.

"Captain Kirk likes to snuggle with blankets," Eleanora said softly with a smile. "How very sweet."

"If he heard you say that," McCoy warned.

Eleanora's eyes twinkled. "He'd let me say it. Maybe he would get mad at you, but mothers of doctors have privileges." She paused. "I asked Jocelyn if Joanna could stay with us for a few days, knowing Jim was coming. She agreed, and Joanna can come after school."

At that, McCoy's heart couldn't help but burst. It would be just the thing Jim needed. "Thanks, mama," he said and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.

"Mama. You still call me mama," she whispered, smiling. "Something about you being here makes my heart full, but when you bring Jim, it's twice as good."

McCoy led her out of the room and closed the door behind him partway. "He's having a hard time," he said. "Things were...worse than what you've heard in the media."

"They always are," Eleanora mused.

McCoy wished he could explain, but orders were orders. His mother must have seen his hesitation.

"I have a feeling that something beyond my imagination happened, Leonard. I saw both your reaction and Jim's when Jocelyn forgot to use tact, but I won't ask questions. I'm your mother, not a detective," she said gently.

"No matter what happened, he still saved his ship and his crew." McCoy said in a murmur.

"He saved _you_ ," she breathed, her eyes getting wet. "I'm honored to help in this way. Whatever you two need, don't hesitate to ask."

"Do what you do best," McCoy offered her a small smile. "Listen and give advice when needed."

After giving his mother instructions regarding Jim and the sleeping man one last peek. McCoy walked out of the house and slipped into Jocelyn's hovercraft. His ex was silent as he expected, until the second they'd turned out of Eleanora McCoy's driveway.

"You just can't leave work alone, can you?" She muttered darkly, tapping her manicured hands on the wheel.

"Jim isn't work, Joce," he said, biting back his own accusations.

"He's your patient, a sick patient, obviously, who should be in the hospital, not here in Atlanta, Len," Joce spouted.

"What does it matter to you if I needed to bring a patient with me?" McCoy asked.

He didn't bother to explain that Jim had been released from the hospital but undergoing traumatizing treatments that left him exhausted. Jocelyn knew just as much as anyone else, and McCoy would make certain it stayed that way. Neither did he explain that there was something between himself and Jim that they needed to resolve, and McCoy's hope was that Georgia would fix it.

"I need your complete, undivided attention, Len," she gritted.

"I am giving my complete attention, beginning right now, as you requested. What I do outside that time is my business," McCoy stressed. "I love our daughter, and I came here to discuss her."

If it hadn't been for Jim, for the presence of a Starfleet captain come back from the dead, McCoy had no doubt that he would've lost his cool earlier on the porch. Jim was the only reason he decided to give Jocelyn a chance to explain herself.

"Fine," she said. "We'll talk about it as soon as we get there."

McCoy thought again of Jim, who was moving forward in his recovery although he would swear that he wasn't. Who was keeping an emotional pain close to his chest, a hurt that McCoy wanted to heal but couldn't because Jim kept it hidden. He sighed and leaned with his elbow against the door. While he was gone for a few hours, his hope was that somehow, his mother would find a way to begin to do what he and Jim's therapists couldn't - loosen Jim's grasp on the hurt he shouldn't be dealing with alone in the first place.

Jocelyn redirected the conversation, and he still thought of Jim. There had been something out of the ordinary about that moment when McCoy had wiped away the younger man's tears. Jim had pressed his cheek up against McCoy's fingers. For all the hiding he did, Jim hadn't backed away.

Jim was the reason for a lot of things, McCoy decided.

And then, the doctor's heart began to beat in a way that he hadn't experienced for a long, long time.

"Len?"

Jocelyn's sharp tone pulled him back although he was far from being ready to speak with her again. "Yeah," he said in a rough voice.

"It's Jim, isn't it?" She asked.

Something like ice coursed through his veins when he looked over at her. "He's my best friend, Joce. I'd never turn my back on him, _never_ , especially not after what he did for all of us. This has been harder on him than anyone will ever know."

Jocelyn's eyes widened as if she'd forgotten in her own ambition what had been heralded throughout Federation space. Captain Kirk, _hero_. Captain Kirk, _near death._

He felt a grim satisfaction when she didn't speak another word the rest of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small note...In my very first fanfic two years ago, which coincidentally was also for Star Trek, Lenore Karidian played a minor character. In that story, she was kind and a little unsure of herself, though she did show spirit later on in the story. Here, in this verse, I'm going for a vastly different Lenore Karidian. I am placing Lenore on Tarsus at the time Jim was there. I am also inferring in this chapter that sometime later, for one reason or another, Jim and Lenore had some sort of (brief and unstable) relationship. Obviously, Lenore would have been drastically affected by the massacre and her father's actions, hence the insanity Jim recalls, causing him to shiver.
> 
> Anyway, it's crazy no matter how you look at it, but this is Jim you're talking about. 
> 
> Many thanks to all of you who are reading/commenting/giving Kudos - I mean that from the bottom of my heart. It is very motivating! I am striving for a quicker update! Meanwhile, I really appreciate your patience. :)


	3. the rain will still pour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit nervous about this one. It has a good amount of h/c and a little more plot. I love your follows and comments. Thank you so much, and if you are enjoying this, I'm so happy to hear that you are. I also love pumpkin-cinnamon scented candles and colorful, twirling leaves and cozy blankets and almost everything about this lovely time of year. I wish it could last forever...but then I guess if that happened, I wouldn't enjoy it as much. It's better when it just comes back around... :)
> 
> Thank you, Rubyhair, for the beta! :)

Jim blinked drowsily in the darkness. He hated waking up like this, stuck in a thick cloud of exhaustion. It seemed like everything reminded him of the early days he'd spent in the hospital recuperating, including this. He wondered just how was he supposed to move past "his trauma" when everything about his life was so damn tedious? At least if he was sleeping, he wouldn't have to deal with it all, if he didn't count the frequent nightmares he had.

But...something had awakened him. He wasn't exactly sure what, he couldn't exactly place it, but things just didn't seem right to him. The desire to sleep again strangely overcame his instincts, and Jim didn't give a damn that it had. If he was feeling this lousy and confused, whatever it was that had disturbed him probably didn't matter. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to pull him back under. Not caring was becoming a bad habit of his, lately, but when he thought about the large, welcoming house and all the love and warmth that was Mrs. McCoy and the constant that was his best friend, that was all that mattered. Not caring was also beginning to sound a little too familiar, but he'd already decided, beginning with keeping his eyes closed from the world.

Something like a murmur hit his ears. Jim's eyes fluttered open, leaving some of the sleep behind as awareness spread through his body.

"Bones?" He forced a whisper from his aching throat and was surprised at the distinct rasp to his voice. Where had that come from?

No one answered, and he felt a dull pang of loneliness.

"Bones?" He whispered a second time.

When he was met with more silence, the loneliness crept deeper into his thoughts. Lately, loneliness was almost worse than anything else he could experience. It was a little ridiculous, he admitted to himself, but all he wanted was for Bones to be nearby, even if he was snoring and oblivious to the world. Bones was his security and all the comfort that came with it.

Light was gone from the window, indicating that he'd slept through the day and into the evening. Or, Jim thought in frustration when he couldn't find the chronometer that used to be in the room, he'd lost the entire night and it was already very early morning. The missing chronometer had Bones written all over it, and it upset him almost as much as the thought of losing at least twelve hours to sleep.

Jim scrunched his face, his mind shifting from one thought to another. Maybe it wasn't morning after all. His pillow was curved perfectly under his neck and the quilt still tucked around his body, just the way he liked it. Usually, his blankets were twisted and falling off after he'd slept, thanks to nightmares and the general, fitful nature of his sleeping patterns. He must be losing it, or Bones and his mother were being extra attentive to his needs. He had his pillow and quilt - but the comfort stopped there. His throat felt like flames had scorched the sensitive skin inside his mouth, and he didn't dare swallow. The stiff state of his body indicated that he'd been in the same position for far too long, and but even worse was the newfound pinch between his legs. Jim winced as he tried to shift his body to a better position, but he quickly discovered that his movement was limited by a particular type of tubing he couldn't see.

Damn it _all_. Jim knew exactly what that tubing meant. Bones had mentioned the slim possibility of needing it weeks ago, before they'd even begun the drug therapy, but he'd forgotten all about it. It seemed almost impossible that things could have gotten worse, but they had.

What he wouldn't give to have the chance to crawl out of his own skin and escape this mess that he was in.

"Son, I'm so sorry, and I understand why you didn't want to discuss this when you got back earlier."

Jim blinked to attention. That was Nora, and there was no question that she sounded worried. Jim lifted his free hand and rubbed his eyes. That must have been what woke him up. When his vision cleared, he looked around his room but even in the dark, he could tell it was empty, so he looked towards the door. He narrowed his eyes to see through the crack and out into the hallway, but he could only make out Nora's arm and what he thought to be Bones' torso in front of her.

"If there's anything that I can do..." Nora continued quietly.

"There isn't anything anyone can do, not if Joce's lawyer is trying to dig up reasons that could possibly declare me unfit to share custody of Joanna or even have all rights taken from me," Bones said, moving closer to Jim's room and now blocking Jim's view of Nora. "If they get wind of..."

As Bones' voice trailed off, Jim got a bad feeling. Jocelyn had never stooped this low. In fact, Bones' ex had never been this indifferent or cool to Jim, either. Something else had to be wrong, maybe even provoking her to act this way to Bones. He'd thought that earlier, and he'd stand by it again.

"Of what?" Nora urged.

"Of why I've been so busy the past month and half - with Starfleet - and neglectful of my daughter..."

"You are not neglecting her," Nora said firmly.

"I missed three weekend visitations," Bones said, voice raising. Jim's heart thumped loudly in his ears. He couldn't help but anticipate exactly what Bones was going to say next. "I've only managed two weekdays to spend with Jojo since Jim's..." The doctor hesitated. "...trauma."

Jim's stomach churned. The warp core.

He glanced down at his hands, half expecting to see them shaking. He almost couldn't believe it when they weren't.

"As I recall, Jocelyn wasn't necessarily cooperative when you asked her to come to San Francisco," his mother said. "Not only were you helping James, but you were needed in the wake of the destruction in San Francisco and had to your orders. Not only that, you were working to provide for Jojo - "

"I'm providing for _Jocelyn_ ," Bones said with a snort. "Did you see her hovercraft?"

Jim sure had. Jocelyn was living it up, with help from child support from Bones or something - or someone - else.

"I saw it, and I believe Joce isn't being honest with you either, Leonard. But, it's obvious that you both love Joanna," Nora murmured. "You both know that main concern is your daughter, that precious child, and not your unresolved issues with each other."

"It breaks my heart, mama. Jojo's misbehaving at school. I heard it straight from her teacher's mouth," Bones said so quietly that Jim now strained to hear him. "She's isolating herself during recess. She's even pulling away from Joce and picking at her food at supper time. That's not Jojo. That's not our daughter. It's a direct result of me not being in her life like I had been, especially these past seven weeks since the devastation in San Francisco."

"She's doing what any child would do in this case. I believe that your little girl is mostly worried about you - she has your compassion."

"She shouldn't be worrying about me," McCoy said with a sigh. "It should be the other way around."

"And you do, but your other responsibilities compounded the past two months. You're here now, Leonard, and that is what matters to her. I'm sure her behavior will improve after you've spent some time with Jojo, doing the things you both enjoy," Nora's voice then hushed more. "Leonard, why would Jocelyn's lawyer be interested in the reason behind your recent absences?"

"He isn't exactly interested. Joce is," Bones muttered. "She's the one pushing him to find something and pressing me for more information."

"All that you've told me about the incident is that you were 'cleared.' Would it be so awful if she knew at least this one thing, or even a little more?" Nora asked.

"If she knew?" Bones repeated and a long pause followed. "It may be enough to get her off of my back, but I can't tell her. It could also backfire. No...no, I can't. It's out of the question. There are legal ramifications...ramifications on the Federation level...that no one but myself, the admiralty, and Jim and the rest of his senior bridge crew understand."

Something like a vise gripped Jim's chest so tightly that he could barely breathe. This was his fault. Jim was the reason Jocelyn was trying to take McCoy out of the picture. No one could say it was otherwise. Bones' career had been on the line, and his fucking reputation, all because of Jim, and now this.

He had put his best friend into this position, no matter how anyone looked at it. If Jocelyn won, Jim would never, ever forgive himself.

"You're doing all that you can," Nora said quietly. "Jocelyn may be acting selfishly, but she isn't a cruel, cold-hearted person. I have hope that she'll come around and not pursue sole custody or try to take away your rights."

"I need to check on Jim again," Bones said with a deep sigh, obviously avoiding a reply to that. "His levels still aren't where I want them to be, and this round of drug therapy really did a number on him."

Jim stopped listening and welcomed the feeling of pure stupidity that stole over him. Stupid didn't really even describe him, not at this point. All this time, and he hadn't even known. He'd been absolutely clueless that because Bones was taking care of him, custody for Jojo hung in the balance.

Why hadn't Bones said anything? Why hadn't Jim thought of this very thing ever happening before?

Jim's anger stirred. Jocelyn getting sole custody? Taking away Bones' rights?

Whether it was sadly ironic or even cruel to Bones for Jim to even think, he thought it - _over his dead body._

Other his body was telling him to do otherwise, Jim refused to fall asleep before he came up with some way to stop Jocelyn without revealing the truth. There had to be something he could do for Bones. It was his fault, after all. There had to be something, even though he was the doctor's very sick, very dependent patient who couldn't even hold his shit together - literally.

"Throat sore?"

Jim's startled, his eyes flying open as he lifted his head in his surprise.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's just me," Bones assured him, one hand on his arm and the other guiding him to lie down back on his pillow. "Given your biofeed, I thought you were awake."

"Bones..." Jim croaked in a voice he didn't recognize.

"Don't try to talk," Bones said quietly as he fixed the IV line Jim accidentally pulled. "Save your voice, Jim."

Save his voice? So his hunch had been right and he'd lost control of that, too? Jim groaned and his eyes fluttered open. Being exhausted and disoriented was not a good combination. He really should just keep his mouth shut.

Jim's eyes stubbornly closed before he could acknowledge the doctor, but he did get a glimpse of Bones' blue dress shirt and tie. He was again confused. Wasn't it late? Why hadn't Bones taken the time to change out of his clothes yet? He slumped his shoulders in resignation. Maybe it wasn't evening, after all. His sense of time must be completely warped, right along with everything else. Ever since his sleep was disturbed, it had been one thing after another, tripping him up.

"Jim?" Bones called softly. "Ya still with me?"

Jim nodded, and barely resisted the urge to curl on his side and tuck his left arm into his body, away from what Bones was sending through his body, away from the injections, just simply away from all of this. God, how many more weeks of this was he going to have to endure? Bones hadn't been kidding when he'd said he saw sleep in Jim's future. He wasn't going to be hopping out of bed anytime soon. He wasn't sure that he even wanted to, not until his brain could sort itself out.

He couldn't even tell which way was up anymore, a sad thing for a captain of a starship.

"Good," Bones said. "Is your throat sore? I can tell it is by the way you're holding your neck."

Jim frowned. If he already knew his throat hurt, there was no use in asking.

"Okay, so it is," Bones said. "I'm afraid that because of the higher dosage of medication this time, we're dealing with a few extra side effects this time around that I'd hoped would pass you by and unfortunately, they did not."

Jim opened his mouth to speak but Bones glanced at him sharply.

"No talking. It'd be best for you to just listen, alright?"

Jim gritted his teeth. Just listening was getting harder to do, but he nodded in agreement.

"Good," Bones said, his voice softening. "I'm going to recline you just a little so you can have a few ice chips before you fall asleep again, unless you feel up to having a bath?"

Jim gave his head a shake.

"I didn't think so," Bones said in what was his best, bedside manner voice. Jim began to anticipate bad news. "We can try the next time you're awake."

The bed moved and soon, he was reclining just enough so he wouldn't choke on the small ice chips Bones had spooned him.

"How long was I...sleeping?" Jim asked, scraping together his words. He closed his mouth around another piece of ice that Bones offered. Soon the ice melted, and the liquid slid down his aching throat. It was somewhat refreshing but it hurt like a bitch. He honestly wasn't sure he wanted more but he was too damn thirsty to stop.

"Not long enough. Didn't I say no talking?" Bones stressed.

Jim sent him a pleading look. He hated being in the dark about simply everything.

"Nine hours, Jimbo," Bones said without missing a beat. "I was back in three to put on the catheter that you probably noticed by now. You were so out of it, I'm not surprised you don't remember."

The news hit Jim hard. Nine hours. The way he currently felt, though, it might as well have been two hours.

"You need this rest, Jim, and I don't want you worried about how much time you take to feel better," said the mind reader. But then Bones asked a most humiliating question. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

Jim rolled his eyes.

"Do you?" The doctor asked firmly, unfazed by Jim's response. "If you feel like you can, we should take care of it now."

"You sure know how to kick a guy when he's down, don't you?" He rasped, his voice dwindling to practically nothing at the end.

Bones regarded him somberly. "No talking. Jim, I know this isn't easy, but I need to know these things," he said, then very slowly, "Do you need to?"

Jim shook his head and stared back, just as upset as Bones, he imagined, but for different reasons.

"Okay, if you're sure," Bones said, giving him a careful perusal. He held another spoonful of crushed ice at Jim's lips, waiting. "I know it's hard to accept after being in the hospital for so long, but your body needs this time to recover from these treatments."

Jim sighed and obediently took the ice he really didn't want. Unaware of the pitiful expression on his face that only Bones could see, he then looked at the catheters in his hand and cursed the one he couldn't see, all of which determined how mobile he really was at the moment. He may have wondered why Bones was so quiet, but he was too preoccupied with being stuck in bed and his comm being out of reach while his doctor was clearly too focused to give him a break. A minute passed between them before Bones offered him more. Although Bones' expression was gentle and encouraging, he turned his head away from the next round of ice.

"It's alright. I know you're tired," the doctor said softly, pulling the spoon and cup of ice away. "Maybe you can manage more ice the next time you're awake, and then after that, applesauce and soon after that, some of my mama's famous chicken noodle soup."

Jim nodded, thinking he was nearly ready for that soup, after all, if he just wasn't so damn tired. Bones moved the bed back to where it was, and Jim remembered about Jojo. His head lulled to the other side of the pillow as he tried to catch Bones' attention, but the doctor was once again, more focused on the condition of Jim's body than anything else.

Bones frowned at the tricorder in his hand. "I am sorry about the inconvenience of the catheter, Jimbo, but loss of bladder muscle control as well as weakened bowel control are possible side effects of the injections at this level that we discussed. You didn't experience it after last week's injections because the drugs were in lower dosages. Yesterday, we didn't notice it, since you hardly drank a darned thing," Bones explained, glancing up from the device. "Now that you're receiving these replenishing fluids, it's an issue we can't ignore but it shouldn't last more than another day, maybe just even through the night. I already gave you medication to offset it, but I won't pull you out of bed just like that. We'll take it gradually. Next week, though, we may run into the same problem given the higher dosage."

Another day was a day too long, and he wasn't even going to begin to think about next week's drug therapy. He could hardly handle the minute in front of him.

"Embarrassing," Jim mumbled back, no longer resisting his urge to try to curl in a ball and hide himself from the world. He bent his knees a little but then realized he really didn't have the ability to move himself onto his side, anyway.

"No one here is laughing at a patient who is recuperating from trauma," Bones said in a gentle tone, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Here, let me help. Side?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

Arms repositioned him when he had no strength to do so. As Bones managed the catheter and whatever else that was stripping away his dignity, Jim couldn't help but think that Bones had been insinuating that he'd actually had had an accident.

"You mean...I...pissed in...my..." Jim began but his body refused to cooperate and like an idiot, his words died on his mouth. His throat was too tight and sore to let him communicate like a normal person. Being tired as shit wasn't helping, either.

"Shhh, for the fourth time, captain, don't talk," Bones murmured as his hand carded through Jim's hair. Jim closed his eyes, relishing the comfort as he did it repeatedly. "You know things like that don't bother me, and you shouldn't let it bother you, either."

But the sense of comfort faded as soon as the doctor's words soaked in.

It had actually happened. While he'd slept, oblivious to it all, it had actually happened. Fuck, what was wrong with him.

He knew all about catheters because he'd been flat on his back in the hospital for days, helpless and without control, and he knew about them even before that. He also knew all about Bones beating around the bush when something bothered him. Hell, he'd known Bones for more than four years now though it felt like two lifetimes already. Bones was his other half most days. Bones was his _better_ half. He knew all about Bones risking his career in exchange for Jim's life and about Joce's bitchy side, but most importantly, that there was a seven year old girl who didn't deserve to have her father ripped from her young life. And his best friend, who had the biggest heart of anyone he knew, didn't deserve to have her ripped away from his.

"Jojo... " Jim whispered, his voice cracking at the end. Bones couldn't lose her. If Bones lost her, the doctor would never be the same again. Jim could just imagine it, though he didn't want to. It would literally break his best friend, and Jim didn't know how to stop it.

Realistically, Jim couldn't do a damned thing about the situation, not like this. Not until his drug therapy ended and he was able to control some of his own life again. But, maybe, just maybe, if Bones would allow him to have his communicator, he could contact Spock. Spock would figure out a way, and it may have to be a little devious. Jim wasn't worried about that. The Vulcans he knew seemed to have a very strange tendency to bend the rules and even the truth, especially when it suited themselves or a friend.

"Jojo?" Bones repeated. "She'll come tomorrow, instead of today. It's late, and you need peace and quiet to get as much sleep as you possibly can. I know that won't happen if you two are being your charming selves and getting into trouble."

Bones had postponed his visit with Joanna because of Jim? Because he needed a catheter and lost his voice and couldn't even move himself around in his own damn bed? His frustration rose to a level that he couldn't wasn't sure he could handle in this state. How was he supposed to even sleep when Jocelyn was determined to take Jojo away from Bones? And when Bones kept putting him first?

Bones should have left him behind to suffer in San Francisco, in the hospital and alone with strangers.

Jim reached up with his free hand and grasped the bottom edge of doctor's shirt. As he pulled, the tremors that he hated and that were putting more space between him and his ship came back full force. "Bones, wait...tell me, about Jojo," he whispered.

For a split second, Bones' expression revealed the hurt Jim heard in the hallway. He masked it just as quickly when he glanced down at Jim's hand.

Jim looked down, too, and then wished he hadn't.

The tremors. His damn tremors.

He was hardly aware of Bones taking hold of his hand, until he'd placed it carefully on his chest. Jim stared up at the doctor, wondering if it was ever going to fucking end.

"Jojo's fine," Bones said, his voice may have been the gentlest Jim had ever heard from him. "And you will be feeling much better tomorrow as long as you get a full night's rest."

The sedative came out of nowhere. He didn't even have time to think before his eyes slid shut and he lost the perfect opportunity to ask for his comm

"Jim, I'll be here when you wake up in the morning," Bones said as Jim lost consciousness. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

oOo

 

The numbness of sleep pressing in on him, McCoy wandered into the kitchen with one thing on his mind. Coffee.

His mother instantly looked up from the PADD she was reading. "How is our captain?" She asked.

"Not happy with his situation," McCoy replied.

"Coffee is right on the counter," she said with a smile.

"You read my mind." McCoy grabbed himself a cup then collapsed in the chair across from her.

"He said he wasn't happy?" Nora asked quietly.

"No, but I could tell by his body language and everything he didn't say," McCoy sighed. "I don't blame him. Things are pretty rough for him right now."

"James is a strong man. He will get through this." Nora paused and got a certain look on her face as she peered at him. "And so will you."

McCoy took a sip of coffee and and gave her a small but genuine smile. "What is on your mind, mama?"

"Go to bed and let me watch over James through the night," she said. "I think the worst will soon be over for him, just as you said earlier."

McCoy gulped his coffee down before nodding. "He needs this next round of sleep, and then, yes, I do think he'll get on his feet at some point tomorrow."

He didn't mention what he thought would happen the next week, when Jim was due another round of injections. McCoy was deep in plans to keep Jim here, even before his request for his own leave was approved by HQ. Jim needed as much comfort and familiarity as possible to get through these treatments, and he'd never get that at a Starfleet Hospital or even in his own apartment.

"Then it's settled," she said with a shrug, returning to her reading.

McCoy's brow knit together. She'd already had done too much. "I can handle tonight. I already downed half of this cup of coffee. You don't have - "

"I do," she chided him. "Because tomorrow is a Saturday and my precious granddaughter is coming in the morning."

"Mama- "

"Oh, by the way, I made decaf."

McCoy scowled and stared down at the little that was left in his mug. She always made caffeinated, didn't she? "That was a dirty trick."

"Learned it from your father years ago when I'd get on those cleaning tangents around the house," she said, looking at him with affection. "You wisely brought the captain here to give yourselves a fresh perspective, to help him heal, to help yourself heal. Let me help as I can. It would be better for you to also deal with Jocelyn after you've slept for more than two or three hours."

After a moment, McCoy admitted to himself that she was right, about many things. "Alright, I will," he relented. "I would say it would be an easier night, but with the side effects being what they are, you'll need to check on him every hour."

"That poor man," she murmured.

McCoy tried not to dwell on the same sentiment. The fact was, everything that he'd done for Jim had caused an endless domino effect, beginning with the very moment he had injected the dead captain with a serum made from augment's blood and not ending with the numerous emotions he himself was feeling right now. Sympathy was at the top of the list, right alongside guilt and something else McCoy was beginning to see for himself. "And if he happens to wake up and asks for me, please don't hesitate to get me," he said gruffly.

"Leonard, I imagine he'll ask for you every single time," she said in a soft but controlled voice. "I imagine that your face will be the first face he looks for when he opens his eyes."

McCoy's heart drummed that unfamiliar yet sweet beat. He watched his mother carefully, wondering if she meant what he thought she meant.

She cocked her head, her expression full of concern. "I am assuming that you haven't talked about your feelings with Jim? And vice versa?"

"Mama..." McCoy cleared his throat and debated sprinting from the room. It felt just like high school, when his mother was just as intuitive with his crushes then as she was now.

"You do know for yourself how you feel, don't you?" She asked him with such a kind, motherly air about her that McCoy couldn't be upset for her prying. "It would be alright if you didn't, as I think you'd figure it out very, very soon."

He may have blushed, just thinking of Jim that way in front of his mother. But damn it all, this wasn't a simple crush. It was...it was far more than that. It was Jim.

"I know how I feel." McCoy's heart stirred at the admission to his mother. It was getting harder not to act on his feelings, but Jim was in a precarious place right now.

"Hmm, I see. I won't ask you anything else, at least not right now, but I want you to know that I'm almost certain Jim feels the same way," she said. McCoy wasn't too sure about that, given the tension they'd had between them, but he let her talk. Jim saw McCoy as his disgruntled, nagging doctor, and that was another issue altogether. McCoy had only himself to blame for the mess. "You can't help but notice the trust he has in you and the devotion he has for you, Leonard."

"Speaking of that," McCoy said, leading the conversation elsewhere. "I think he may have heard us talking some. I gave him a sedative before he could say too much."

"Oh, dear," she said softly. "This will be upsetting to him."

McCoy chuckled dryly. "Why do you think I never told him? And gave him that sedative? He'd never sleep."

"He cares too much about you both to let it go," she murmured.

"But he has to let it go. He can't afford to have stress like that in his life," McCoy said. "I'm hoping that he'll forget most of that conversation by morning. He was still a little out of it and preoccupied with...the contraption."

Nora smiled sadly. "What the poor captain must be feeling right now, unable to catch his breath, with one thing after another thrown at him. I would be worried for him, except I know that he has you."

"He was there for me when I was at my worst, and still is," McCoy said. "Those things you mentioned before have always been there between us, and I'm not...he's not..." He hesitated.

His mother's eyes warmed as she stretched her arm across the table to clutch his hands. "I've never known either of you boys to be so shy with one another."

Shy? He was tiptoeing around Jim, with good reason. McCoy took a deep breath. "Jim thinks of me as his best friend," he said, deciding it was just better for all of them to be realistic when Jim was so vulnerable.

"It's gone past that, my dear. You wiped away his tears, on your mother's front porch, in front of your mother and in front of your mother's neighbors," she said softly. "And Jim, who you've implied would rather run the opposite direction than experience intimacy on a deeper level, let you."

oOo

 

"Ya ready?"

Jim looked at the face that had greeted him in the morning when the rain had begun pattering on his window. He nodded. He was as ready as he was going to be, especially now that he was finally free of that damned catheter for at least an hour, which was the time Bones promised him in the bath.

"On the count of three, Jimbo," the doctor said. "One...two...three..."

Jim stood to his feet with the doctor's arm around his back and his own around Bones' shoulder. His robe fell open revealing his boxers and cringe-worthy physique. He looked down - a bad idea. The dizziness he expected but the loose-limbed feeling came as a surprise. His breath came out in heavy spurts, unable to put one foot in front of another until he thought his jelly-like legs would hold him. The hand around him tightened.

"Ya alright?" Bones asked, concerned.

"Just..." Jim grated out in a harsh whisper. He blinked several times. He wanted that bath more than anything - and his comm - so he lied to the drawling doctor. "Yep."

Bones snorted. "You'd fall on your face if I wasn't holding on to ya, so I'll take that as no," Bones' stressed the word at the end and waggled his eyebrows.

"I don't think...it's that bad," Jim rasped.

"Don't talk."

Jim rolled his eyes and shuffled forward with Bones.

"I saw that," Bones said. "I'll have you know, I am reminding you for your own good."

It took more effort than he'd wanted to give, but a minute later, Jim sank down onto the chair inside the spacious and very modern bathroom that was adjacent to his room. He stared with longing at the tub filling with water and was happily surprised to see that it had jets. A jacuzzi bathtub? He'd never want to get out. "Can I go in yet?" He whispered, inching to the edge of the chair.

"In a minute," Bones said, dipping his hand in the water. "I wanted the temperature to be just right for you so you don't catch a chill. Jojo will be here in an hour," he went on, "but that doesn't mean you have to get out of the bath, Jim. Just enjoy yourself in here, and my mama or I will be just a button away if you need help. Ya might with your hair."

Jim nodded, glancing at the buttons by the tub. There was one for calling Bones or Nora, and others for temperature, water, and the jets. There were two folded towels by the tub, as well as soap, shampoo, and a washcloth on a narrow ledge. On the rug in front of a tub was another robe and a pair of slippers that looked to be his size and that he could imagine wearing, comfortable and clean and maybe feeling like a human being again. He leaned forward, staring at his bare feet as he poked his toe into the soft rug. He was a little chilly now, so he guess he didn't mind that Bones was taking his time to get the water ready.

He wasn't sure when to ask Bones about Jojo, either, so he kept letting time pass by, waiting for the right moment. Bones seemed generally happier, or at least more rested than the day before, and Jim didn't want to ruin it for him, not with Jojo coming. Maybe if he got his comm back, he'd just forgo asking Bones and approach Spock, instead, for help.

"Jim? Are ya sure ya want to do this? I was trying to get your attention for a full minute," Bones said.

Jim rubbed his forehead and winced. This wasn't going exactly as planned. He peered up at Bones and nodded, hoping the doctor wouldn't change _his_ mind. "Was thinking."

Bones' brow furrowed.

"My comm," Jim bit his lip.

Bones arched a brow. "You'd like to use it?"

Jim nodded, squirming a bit.

Bones frowned. "I'm not keeping it hostage, Jim."

Jim frowned back. He could've fooled him.

"I'm sorry it seemed that way," Bones said quietly. "I didn't want anyone bothering you while you settled in here."

"Oh."

Bones sighed. "I am very sorry...I thought it best..."

"'s okay," Jim said, voice paper thin.

"No, it's not okay, not if you thought...Listen, I'll set it by your bed." Bones said, slowly losing his frown. "But now, your bath awaits, captain."

Jim tried not to think about how skinny he was next to Bones as he slowly managed to drop his shorts and as Bones pulled the robe off his body, but it was impossible. He was skin and bones and shaking like a leaf.

"Fuck," Jim whispered, his heart pounding in his ears. It would take two challenging steps over the side of the tub and into the water. He'd be a fool to say he could manage it.

Hadn't it been mere weeks ago that he'd jumped over a cliff with Bones?

"Just go slowly," Bones murmured in his ear.

He was going something, that was for sure, but Jim wasn't even certain how Bones managed to make him take the first step. One foot slipped into the water, his weight completely supported by the doctor. The other foot somehow made it. His skin prickled as he stood, already fighting that chill that Bones didn't want him to get.

Bones mouth pressed into a flat, determined line as he guided Jim lower, into the water. "Easy, Jim."

He made it into the water not a moment too soon. The water went up to his shoulders and was all the warmth he wanted. Still, he shivered for a few more seconds.

"Ya have everything right at your fingertips," Bones said softly. "Even music."

Jim crossed his arms under the water, his hands gripping opposite elbows and at a loss for words.

Bones hesitated. "If you need anything..."

"I'm fine," Jim said, managing to make his voice a little stronger.

"Okay, I'll see if my mama needs help with anything else for Jojo," Bones said. "But I'm here to help, Jim, alright?"

Jim nodded. Bones turned to leave and Jim couldn't watch. He sank back in the water to his chin, and instead of feeling elation that he was finally able to clean himself, he only felt the drowning ache of his depression returning.

"Jim?"

Jim's eyes widened as he stared up at Bones.

The doctor had paused with one hand and foot already out the door, staring back at Jim with an unreadable expression.

Jim's eyes stung. If he was going to be here alone, without someone to talk to, there really wasn't any point to taking a bath. If he didn't have a _friend_ to talk to, he'd be forced to take a bath as lonely as fuck.

But if Bones was going to leave...he better just walk away now.

Jim couldn't even make himself pick up the washcloth and soap and begin washing himself. Instead, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I thought it'd be better for me to get out of your way, but if you need company...or want...." Bones finally said, his voice trailing off in question.

After a moment of shocked silence, Jim's eyes shut briefly in relief. He nodded.

He heard footsteps, then the doctor's clothes rustle as his body sank to the rug beside the tub. Jim swallowed harshly.

Once the doctor was settled beside him, Jim looked over. Bones was observing him, his expression revealing nothing of the awkwardness of the last minute, but something relaxed and almost confident. Jim began to lose himself in the calm that was in those hazel eyes.

Bones didn't break his gaze, either. "Want me to help with your hair before you start?" Bones asked.

Jim's chest expanded with a large breath that he then exhaled slowly. "Sure," he whispered.

"Lean back," Bones said quietly, picking up the detached hose.

Jim tipped his head back, closing his eyes as Bones sprayed the warm water along his scalp. Once his head was wetted thoroughly, the water stopped and Bones set down the hose. Jim blinked away a few drops of water from his eyes, waiting as Bones took a small amount of shampoo in his hands.

Jim observed every move of the doctor as he leaned over the tub to rub it in his hair. It was hard not to with Bones so close, his shoulders and arms carrying out a task that would be difficult for Jim to handle on his own. The doctor's hands massaged the shampoo in what seemed to be perfect circles with just the right touch, and his eyes were focused as he applied the shampoo. Jim made a noncommittal noise in his throat, now so relaxed he was leaning involuntarily into the doctor's very capable hands. He couldn't help but think this was the first time in a very long, long time that Bones had let down his guard in front of Jim. He didn't seem to be Bones, the doctor, but Bones, the friend. And it had taken Bones washing his hair for it to happen.

Jim didn't mind that they weren't talking. His throat still hurt, anyway, and it was just like many times they've had between them in the past. No words, just themselves, at their worst or even at their best.

Just...together.

"Just a bit more," Bones breathed, his face now mere inches from Jim's.

Jim's gaze fell on the doctor's parted lips. They were moist, maybe from the warmth that had gathered in the room. They were probably just as warm, and...

He sucked in a breath and jerked his gaze up. Had Bones had caught him staring?

Bones hadn't. His focus was washing Jim's hair, a task so innocent but for some odd reason, Jim didn't want it to be.

Something fluttered in his chest and he had to look at Bones' mouth a second time to stop it.

"Done," Bones breathed again. "Lean back so I can rinse ya."

He swallowed hard and did as the doctor asked, but slowly. He was relieved when Bones' hand was at his back in support. He hated to close his eyes but Bones was efficient once again.

"Okay, I'm done," Bones said softly as the last of the shampoo was rinsed away. "Just give me a few more seconds, I'll dry your eyes for you."

Bones patted Jim's face with a soft, dry towel. Once the towel was taken away, Jim breathed out a contented sigh. The experience as a whole had left him happier than he'd been for several days, so he smiled. It felt so damn good that he kept on smiling.

"Thank you," Jim whispered.

He then opened his eyes and found that the doctor hadn't budged. In fact, the doctor was staring at Jim.

He was staring at Jim's mouth.

Jim's breath caught for a second time.

Bones, his doctor, his best friend, was staring at his lips.

"Bones?" Jim whispered.

"You're smiling," Bones said, blinking up at him. "I haven't seen...you haven't smiled since..."

Bones stopped, his expression almost confused.

"I've missed it," Bones finally said, raising his hand to Jim's lips and lightly tracing his mouth.

Jim parted his lips in anticipation and his heart began to race as he wondered what Bones was doing. When Bones gently tipped Jim's chin upwards with the pads of his fingers, something pooled in Jim's stomach and his heart lurched in his chest. _This_ was what Bones was doing, but in his own good time and despite the things that were in their way and left unsaid. The doctor's eyes swept over and over Jim's face before he finally leaned forward.

Mesmerized by what he saw in the doctor's eyes and pulled by the affection he saw in them, Jim inched his face closer in turn. Now a mere breath away from each other, Jim only wanted Bones, the touch of the doctor, the hands on his face like they were now, pointing Jim towards him. He needed to stare into those hazel eyes framed by those lashes for as long as he wanted, which he was certain was for a longer time than he'd ever stared at anyone.

He saw it all right before his eyes as their lips crushed together.

He wanted it _all_.

Bones' mouth slanted across his, Jim's almost needy. No, it _was_ needful because Bones was letting his guard down.

" _Wait, sweetheart_ ," a woman called in the distance.

Jim and Bones both froze. It sounded like Nora was coming -

" _Daddy_!"

Eyes wide, they broke apart with a jolt. Jim slipped and barely steadied himself in the tub, water slapping back and forth against his body in waves, a reminder to them both that he was in a vulnerable position. Bones swore under his breath and jumped to his feet. Jim covered his face in his hands. He didn't dare look up at the man he'd just kissed but held his breath and sank into the sudsy water clear up to his ears as Bones rushed out to stop a certain seven year old from crashing through the door.

_What had they just done?_

He held his breath and held on to the hope that he hadn't just ruined the best friendship he would ever have in his short life. His very short life, because without Bones, Jim was certain that he wouldn't live past the age of thirty. Left behind, his heart also took a beating as he thought of how out of place he was here. Never before had he felt this way when he'd come with Bones to visit Mrs. McCoy, but it was clearer than ever to him now. He was work, just plain fucking work for Bones. It may not have been so bad on its own, but while Bones worried about Jojo it was even worse, and Jim having to live a short life wasn't nearly as important as this...Jojo needed her father.

Jim didn't come up for air until he was certain the coast was clear and the bathroom door closed.

He wasn't sure he'd even caught his breath by the time Nora came in a full twenty minutes later to help him out of the now cool, now perfectly still water. And when it was Nora who came and not Bones, he wasn't surprised at all.


	4. I will go where you lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's safe to say this update wouldn't be happening without missBAMF. She spurred me on during my writer's block, coming alongside to beta and challenging me with some thoughts on this particular chapter. She understands the thought and feeling in this story, and her edits reflect that. I am so thankful for her friendship. The edits were icing on the cake for me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I apologize for the longer wait. :( I'm not sure when the next update will be, but a good guess would be two weeks. I hate to even throw out a specific date so I appreciate your patience right now! Thank you so much for reading!!!

McCoy darted through the bathroom door, head in the clouds and the memory of a kiss lingering on his mouth. His lips, still warm, had smarted like he'd bit into a hot pepper.

Or, kissed the man who could very well be the love of his life.

Captain James T. Kirk.

 _Jim_.

No other person in the universe drove him as crazy as the blue-eyed captain—not even Jocelyn. And right now, Jim was driving him absolutely mad. There were only two things he could do about it, and he wanted to do them both. He wanted to first lash out at the man for distracting him, and then kiss him a second time with the passion he deserved.

His mother was right, which wasn’t anything new. Whatever this was between himself and Jim, it wasn't just friendship anymore, it’d gone well beyond that, and he could no more ignore it than he could ignore Jim’s long road to recovery.

He'd given Jim every opportunity to shy away, not wanting to misread him. And when Jim hadn’t, it'd been easy to take advantage of the moment, pausing to let Jim's features soak in. They were sharper and purer and even more beautiful in there in the bathtub than he could have ever imagined. One look into those hopeful blue eyes as wide as the sky had done him in. He'd always felt a pull toward Jim, but after realizing how strong that pull was, it’d become a game of tug-of-war, McCoy on the losing side, Jim utterly oblivious to the fact that he was winning.

Now that McCoy'd had a taste of Jim Kirk, he wasn’t sure he could turn back.

That kiss…had been something else.

He'd been both slightly surprised and relieved when Jim had leaned toward him, almost mystified that he'd wanted to touch him like that. McCoy had been around long enough to recognize what an urgent, hungry kiss felt like.

The one he'd just experienced with Jim was exactly that and nothing less. Hell, maybe even more.

McCoy’s heart skipped a beat just thinking of Jim like this, a man who was his patient, his captain, and also his best friend.

The blur of purple charging his way halted all thoughts on the matter, Jim taking a temporary back seat.

"Daddy, daddy!"

"Woah there, darlin'," McCoy caught his daughter in his arms just three meters shy of the bathroom door and what could've been a disaster. She giggled in his embrace.

His mother stood behind Jojo, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes beseeching. "I couldn't contain her excitement."

"No harm done," McCoy said, something that of course wasn't true at all, but he wouldn't place any blame on Jojo or his mother for the interruption. Such was life here, with the daughter that he loved and the man he also loved. He expected and planned for it to be this way. Somehow he'd manage. Besides, he'd be even more distracted if Jim had been admitted to SFG instead of here, resting in his mother's Georgian home.

"Marz Mungle Gemph?" Jojo garbled into the crook of his neck.

If he wasn't so upset with himself, he would've smiled. It wasn't too hard to figure out who was on the little sprite's mind. Jim wasn't far from his mind again either, and the brown haired child tightly hugging him tightly was the most perfect thing he could hold onto after the grave mistake he'd just made.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Even though Jim had technically kissed _him_ , a dream come true, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was exploiting Jim's vulnerability. In his physically and emotionally compromised state, could Jim be taken seriously? Was he well enough to make that kind of decision for himself? And most importantly, did he really desire McCoy like McCoy desired him?

Given that now wasn’t the time to find out, McCoy kissed the top of Jojo’s head. He let his daughter out of his embrace but kept a fierce grip on her hands. Nora stepped around them and quietly shut the bathroom door to give Jim privacy. McCoy had been so busy the past seven weeks that to survive his heartache, he'd hardly let himself think of how much he missed his own child. Now that she was here, right in front of him, it was all he could do not to crush her into his arms and hold her tightly for the rest of the day.

Because if he was being honest with himself, his empty arms ached to hold someone he really didn't have the right to hold in the first place... _Jim_.

"Do you remember what I told you?" he asked Jojo.

"That he's still sick, like he was when he was in the hospital," she whispered, eyes worriedly darting behind his shoulder to the door of the bathroom.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "And right now, he's taking a bath."

"Can't I just see him, though?" Jojo whined innocently.

"Not yet, darlin'. He needs some time alone," he said. Of course, he really wasn't sure that it was wise for Jim to be alone, but he couldn't look Jim in the eye. At least, not yet. Not after that kiss.

"He's..." Jojo started and glanced around the room, wrinkling her nose. "He smells sick."

If Jocelyn had said the same thing, McCoy would’ve called her condescending, but hearing it from Jojo, he had to agree. He looked around the room, too, noticing right away that Jim's bed had been stripped bare and his nightstand cleared of all items. His mother, he decided with relief.

The sour smell of sickness filled the room, although when he sniffed the air for a second time, a hint of lemon joined it. Knowing his mother however, she'd continue cleaning the room until it was completely refreshed. There seemed to be so little that they could do for Jim to ease his pain and discomfort other than mild pain relievers. Having a clean room was the least they could do for the guy.

The thought sobered him as he looked at his daughter. "That's because he is _very_ sick. We have to be careful."

"Nana made me use the sonic bacteria zapper thing that that you brought from the hospital," Jojo said, announcing her good deed proudly. "So it would get all the germs off my body before I see Uncle Jim. And I changed my clothes. And she made me stand real still as she checked me with your tricorder."

Thankful that his mother was so efficient in her duties, McCoy half-smiled—

"Mommy watched the entire time," Jojo added.

And then he didn't.

McCoy gritted his teeth instead at the mention of his ex, blood boiling once again. He stared up at his mother.

"She left right afterwards, Leonard," Nora explained quietly, interpreting his stare with ease. "I told her everything was under control, but she insisted on waiting until she knew for herself that Joanna had nothing that could be given to her beloved Uncle Jim," Nora went on, a sour expression on her face that didn’t match her tone.

In other words, Jocelyn wanted to collect more clues of Jim and his condition in order to formulate her own hypothesis about McCoy's negligence. She’d done the same thing before she'd taken Jojo completely away in the divorce years ago, and then she'd blown things out of proportion. He had never stood a chance. It was a small miracle that he'd regained any parental rights at all. Becoming a respected cadet at the Academy and then a well-known CMO overnight after the Narada attacks had changed things again.

"Mommy must be worried," Jojo chattered with an endless amount of energy. McCoy took her by the hand, but it was Jojo who led them out of Jim's bedroom. "She asks me after I talk to you about everything you say about Uncle Jim, Daddy. She tells me that Uncle Jim needs you all the time, and that's why you...would... wouldn't..."

McCoy didn't know what to think when his small chatterbox stuttered to a complete stop mid-sentence.

"I couldn't _what_ , Jojo?" he asked very carefully, as if he didn't know where this was going, as if seeing the emotions play on his daughter's face weren't utterly heartbreaking.

Jojo stopped mid stride, lower lip quivering as she stared up at him, eyes filling with tears that he knew were his fault. When she didn't voice a reply, he figured he had her answer—his constant absence.

"Why don't you take Jojo out to the living room, Len," Nora suggested, coming up behind them, "and in a little bit, after I help the captain, I'll make pancakes."

McCoy smiled at her. "Thank you," he murmured.

He then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and turned back to Jojo, who hadn't reacted at all to Nora's announcement of pancakes like she usually would’ve. Something had to be very wrong to affect her like this.

Feeling dread, he walked hand-in-hand with his daughter toward the door. He stopped once they reached the hallway, and almost didn't notice that his mother shut the door behind them. Jojo looked down miserably at her feet. He glanced down, too.

"Jojo," he said, getting down on one knee. Jojo pulled her gaze upward, her watery eyes pulling at his heart. "I am so sorry, sweetheart..." he whispered, voice cracking.

Tears trailed down his daughter's cheeks like a dam breaking loose. His stomach clenched until it felt like a knife stabbing him. He hated to see his daughter cry.

"I needed you, Daddy," Jojo hiccupped, small hand fisting while the other wiped at her cheeks. "Mommy said sh...she..."

Guilt coursed through McCoy as his daughter teetered forward and fell apart in his arms, soaking his shoulder with her tears. He embraced her, kissed her head, and rubbed her back in consolation, but nothing could take away her pain or his own guilt over letting her down. "I know, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to come," he managed, trying to stay strong.

"She said you wou... _wouldn't_ c-c-c...come," Jojo stuttered, crying, shoulders shaking almost uncontrollably.

McCoy wanted to sigh. Good _Lord_. What did Joce think she was doing pitting his own daughter against him? How was that going to help anything?

"Jojo, darlin'. I _couldn't_ come," he corrected her, desperate for her to believe him.

"I kn...know. What Mommy said...it wasn't true, Daddy, be...c-c-c...cause..." she leaned into him, practically carving herself into his chest. "Be...c-c-c..."

"Shh," he soothed, all the while warning bells sounding in his head. What else was Joce poisoning her with? "You don't have to tell me."

He'd find out on his own, somehow. He'd been playing fair all this time, but maybe it was time to change that. Maybe it was time to fight fire with fire.

Jojo shook her head. Another day, he might have smiled. She was plenty stubborn, like both of her parents, but not today.

"I do. Because Uncle J..Jim needed you m-m-m...more than me...and that's why...you _couldn't_ c...come to my p...play," she cried.

He drew a complete blank, eyebrows elevating. Her play?

"I didn't m-y...mind, Daddy, 'cuz I lo...love Uncle Jim."

 _What play?_ McCoy thought with wide eyes, weeding through hours and hours of memories. It was a jumbled mix of caring for Jim or facing the Admiralty for his actions, which had ultimately broken dozens of laws and oaths for which he'd been given a slap on the wrist.

"Oh, baby girl," he murmured, the ache in his heart almost too much.

And then he remembered. Opening night had been the very day Jim's first lung infection had set in, which had placed Jim's health in more jeopardy than it had been in since his death.

Still, it didn't diminish the truth. No matter how you looked at it, even if Jocelyn hadn't said those things to Jojo, he'd missed his daughter's play. He'd been on Earth and not on a mission in space, and he still hadn't come.

Could he even be a more disappointing father?

He didn't even know where to begin. How could he fix this? "I'm sorry, Jojo. If I can make it up— "

"No...you can't," she sniffled but there was a determination behind her words. "I'm n-n-n...never gonna b...be in a play again."

"Don't say that, Jojo," McCoy said softly but firmly. He hoped to God that Jojo hadn't sworn off plays because of him. "There'll be more plays, and other times when I can come. And... it's okay to be upset— "

"I'm not m...mad, Daddy, not like Mommy," Jojo interrupted. "I could never be mad at you. I just w-w-w...want Uncle Jim to be better."

McCoy froze, a little shocked that what he'd thought held no truth. His daughter wasn't upset with him. She wasn't upset, although she had every right to be. He wouldn't fault her for it if she was, but he'd immediately point his finger at her vengeful mother, the woman behind it.

"So do I, baby. So do I," he finally whispered into her ear. He rocked her back and forth, waiting for the hurt and sadness to ebb away so that they could both be strong for a very sick man in the other room who meant the world to the both of them.

Compared to his ex-wife, Jojo didn't have a selfish bone in her body. He realized that as a father, he must have done something right. He squeezed her tighter, affection coursing through him. He didn’t realize his own strength in light of it.

"Daddy," she whined.

"Sorry, sunshine," McCoy said, loosening his hold. He rubbed more circles into her back. "I just can't get enough of ya."

"Will h...he?" Jojo started, and gave a shuddering breath. She sank deeper into his embrace and relaxed into his arms like she used to do when she was half this size, wholly trusting in him. He held her and walked towards the living room, amazed. She’d grown so much since he last saw her, but she was still tiny enough that carrying her wasn't awkward for either of them. "Will he get better, Daddy?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "It will take some time and more treatments, but your Uncle Jim will get better."

"As long as he has you," she whispered.

“Yeah, as long as he has me,” he said, not missing the double meaning in his own thoughts, meanings a child would know nothing about.

"And I...I don't mind sharing," Jojo added in a bashful voice.

McCoy paused beside the couch. "Thank you, Jojo," he said, and set her down. He planted a kiss on her forehead before straightening up.

"For what?" she asked, scrambling onto the couch and pulling her knees up to her chest. "I didn't do nothin'."

He had the urge to correct her, but simply smiled at her instead. "For being a sweet girl who cares about other people," he said softly, warmed at the way she grinned in return. "Now, I need your help."

"Is it for Uncle Jim?"

He nodded. "It is, sweetheart. You see, he needs a spot where he can be comfortable for a few hours, just to hang out with us for awhile."

"With us?" Jojo asked, eyes big and hopeful.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly. "I think he wants to see you just as bad as you want to see him, and I think that chair over in the corner by the best window of the house will be perfect. But...he's going to need a pillow and blanket."

“Cuz he’ll be cold?” she said in barely contained excitement.

He smiled again, this time from ear to ear. “Yeah, sweety, because he’ll get cold.”

"I know where we can find them! Nana already told me," she boomed excitedly and shot to her feet, using her small hands to wipe the remnants of her tears from her eyes.

"If you get those for me, I'll work on getting him something to eat, water, and a footstool," McCoy said, swelling with pride at Jojo’s enthusiasm, but also deflating a little, because Jim used to have that same enthusiasm. Maybe not as childish, but certainly childlike. Jim used to look at the world like it was some magical place, even at the worst of times. "When I'm done getting things ready for Jim, we can spend some time together right on this couch and you can tell us both all about your play. I imagine we'll get to eat those pancakes that your grandmother promised us, too."

She blinked up at him.

"If you don't want them, I'm sure I can eat your share," he teased with a small smile.

"Daddy, no," she said, stomping her foot, lips forming a pout.

McCoy's brows shot up in surprise. “I don’t know…I’m pretty hungry…” he added and rubbed his belly, mirth filling him.

"No!" she yelled and stuck out her chin, followed by her tongue. "I'd only share mine with Uncle Jim. I'm not sharing with you. You can't make me," she finished and propped her hands on her hips, looking for a moment like her mother whenever she was upset.

McCoy was momentarily speechless. This erratic behavior was shocking, to say the least. "Jojo, that is a disrespectful way to speak to your father," he said, mouth dipping downward.

"He's too skinny," she interjected loudly.

"What?"

"I'm not gonna! He's too skinny!"

"Jojo," he said, voice echoing through the room.

Her eyes snapped upward. He held her gaze with a stern look. "Not only are you disrespecting me, but your words are insensitive and could hurt Jim's feelings," he said, more in a warning voice than anything.

Jojo's expression, once defiant, flooded with guilt. "But...mommy says it."

Jocelyn should be counting her lucky stars that McCoy considered himself a decent man. "It doesn't matter if your mother says it, it isn't polite," he said firmly.

Jojo looked down and shuffled her feet. She looked nervous. "I'm sorry, daddy. I just..." she swallowed. "He's skinny... and weak for a captain. I heard mommy say so."

If his daughter hadn't been in front of him, he would have punched the goddamn wall. Of course Joce had said that.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Darlin', we are all worried about your Uncle Jim, but it can't be an excuse to speak rudely to anyone," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "And he is anything but weak."

He bit his tongue before he could say more. Captain Kirk realigned the warp core while his body failed. Captain Kirk was _living_ after dying. There wasn't anything weak about that. There wasn’t anything weak about knowingly going to your death to save the people around you.

"I'm sorry, daddy," she whispered, swallowing again.

McCoy's eyes softened. Most of this wasn't Jojo's fault, though he didn't like the attitude she was portraying. "I know, darlin', but I don't want to hear that again."

"I heard Nana grumble under her breath, like you do," Jojo mumbled, face reddening a little. "So I thought... I thought...that it must be real important that Uncle Jim eats."

McCoy sighed. "You're right about that, but I'm not too sure he'd be able to eat one pancake, let alone yours, too."

"But...we can try, can't we?" she implored with wide eyes. "Uncle Jim doesn't give up, right? And he listens to you, Daddy."

He drew a deep breath. "Sweetheart, right now I can't push your Uncle Jim too much. He's..." He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Fragile."

"Ya mean he'll break?" Jojo asked worriedly.

"No..." McCoy scratched his chin. Maybe that wasn't quite the word he wanted to use. "He's... "

Stubborn. Vulnerable. Strong. Bull-headed and more sensitive than people really knew. _All that McCoy wanted._

"We just…need to be gentle," he settled on.

"Okay," Jojo said, scrunching her face up a bit. "Then mommy better not come help."

McCoy pulled back his scowl at the last second. "Why do ya say that'?"

"She slammed Nana's door when she left, and then she made the hovercar door slam, too. The windows moved," Jojo said, leaning forward like it was a secret. "I should know. I made sure to watch."

"Well, being that Uncle Jim needs us to be careful with him, you may be right. Your mother may not be able to help him, but..." he tweaked her nose, relishing her innocent smile. "You and I? We are. So, how about you find that blanket and pillow. I'm sure your Nana is moving your Uncle Jim right along."

 

oOo

 

Jim stood on the rug by the bathtub, now dry and wrapped in the most luxurious towel he'd ever had. He stared at the water swirling its way down the drain, almost numb, almost like he was being pulled straight down with it. How could he have been so stupid as to act on his feelings? Bones didn't need another distraction. He was already a patient who needed full-time care. What was more distracting than that?

"James, why don't you take a seat for a moment," Nora called to him softly from the bedroom.

"I...thank you, but...I'm fine," he answered, voice breaking into a hoarse mess of syllables. He knew he shouldn't have tried to speak, despite the steam and whatever Nora had sprayed that somewhat soothed his throat. He didn't know exactly why he’d said "no" to sitting down in the first place, only that he wanted to get settled into the next place as soon as possible.

Sitting down would delay getting back to his bedroom, getting a hold of his comm, and ultimately, getting a hold of Spock. He couldn't wait because Bones' problem was more than likely getting worse every second.

Jim inwardly groaned at remembering that he didn't have a voice. How was he going to use his comm? What he really needed was his PADD to properly communicate with Spock, but asking Bones for that was an entirely different story.

Nora entered the bathroom again and didn't seem bothered that he'd refused. With a smile, she bought the slippers over and set them right beside his feet on the rug. "I'm sorry for the little interruption a while ago," Nora apologized, looking at him carefully. "Jojo arrived much earlier than we expected."

Of course she had. Jocelyn wouldn't pass up the perfect opportunity to undermine Bones and catch him off guard.

Jim slid his feet into the slippers, one by one, holding on to Nora's arm as he did so. He felt shame for being so helpless, for not even being able to put on his own shoes.

"It's...not a..." Jim said, voice finally going out on the word, ‘problem’.

Nora looked at him with a hint of disbelief, as if she'd witnessed the kiss between Jim and her beloved son, but she didn't say anything about it. "I've changed your bedding, but I made a spot for you in the living room. I think we'll try that first, James, if it's alright with you."

It sounded nice, but just thinking about the long journey from the bathroom to getting dressed, and finally, to getting to the room itself, was tiring in itself. Every movement he made took energy he wasn't sure he had today—energy he couldn’t conceive of ever getting back again.

"It's early yet, so I don't think Jojo or Leonard will pass up my pancakes," she continued, a smile playing on her lips.

Pancakes. Jim’s stomach rumbled as if on cue. He realized how hungry he was.

Nora smiled. "You're more than welcome to have some, dear."

Jim had managed broth earlier. As ambitious as it was, maybe he _could_ try a small plate of Nora's famous pancakes. He began to nod, but stopped when a sickly warmth gathered between his legs against the towel he was holding around his body.

The room shrunk around him as an excess of fluid ran down his thighs, his heart rate beginning to skyrocket.

This couldn't be happening. He'd just stepped out of the bath, out of the damn tub. He'd stepped out clean. He'd been clean—and now he was not.

He began to panic. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He was a captain, wasn't he? He made decisions all the time, important decisions, but this was demoralizing. It was humiliating and he...he didn't know...he didn't understand why this was still happening. Shouldn't he be able to manage the new day with a little more independence than this? Couldn’t he go a damn day without fucking shaming himself?

He tried to come up with a reasonable excuse for Nora to leave him alone while he finished up. If he could just convince her that he could get his robe by himself, that it was a task he could manage all on his own as well as the short walk over to the bed, maybe she wouldn't notice.

Because, if she noticed, she'd have to tell Bones.

Nora looked at him quizzically. She may have expected him to say something, but the lump forming in his throat and all the heat of his body rushing to his face kept him from doing so. He was basically helpless, and not only that, but covered in his own urine. Bones would be more turned off by him than he already was.

Wildly, Jim considered trying to hide. Could he hide under his bedcovers...forever? Was that even possible?

Spock would call him illogical. Frank would call him a stupid little shit.

"Captain, I think this was a little too much for you," Nora said gently, not at all drawing attention to the wetness on his legs. In fact, Nora didn’t look like she was bothered by it at all.

But Jim agreed with what she said. He had always been a fuck up, and this proved that he still was. Bones had dashed away from the kiss, hadn't he? Bones had also cursed as soon as the kiss had ended. Dying really hadn't changed a thing. In fact, it’d made everything worse.

But, maybe that wasn't true, after all. Pike wasn't here. Jim had kissed his best friend. He didn't quite know where he belonged. _Everything_ had changed.

He would be mortified except he felt odd. His throat burned like he was about to cry, but no tears had come. It was wrong to cry. All wrong. He'd had enough of that.

He felt the towel slipping from his fingers but managed to clutch it at the end before it dropped to the floor. He refused to look down at himself, and he couldn't even manage to acknowledge Nora.

"No?" she asked, inspecting him carefully. "James, tell me what's wrong."

His eyes must have given him away or maybe it was the towel almost falling. Whatever it was, Jim didn’t want to say anything.

"Okay," Nora said, her tone encouraging. "This means that Leonard was correct in thinking that we will need to take it slow today, at least for a little while."

He still refused to look as she cleaned him and removed his slippers, giving him a new pair. Jim didn't look down as Nora led him to the bed, and it was a miracle he didn't trip over his own feet. He didn't want to think that she must have anticipated and then planned for this, but he did.

Everything was laid out. She'd been prepared, and so he did what he was supposed to do. He was still an obedient patient, after all, but it wasn’t long before the tears welled up behind his eyes.

Not wanting to lose it in front of Nora, _again_ , he made himself forget where he was. He took his mind to a place he used years ago, slipping into it like it had only been yesterday.

His mother had once taken him to this semi-inhabited planet before his young life had shattered to pieces, even more than it already had. It’d been the one time they'd all gone on a vacation. Jim, Sam, and Winona. Like a fucking family. It was laughable now really, but there they'd been, on this planet where the skies were unbelievably blue, the palm trees would bend in the breeze, and the sandy white beaches provided all the entertainment they needed.

He could almost feel the sand under his feet, the magic of the place a happy memory. The water had always been the perfect temperature to jump right in, from morning until night. Sam used to use his surfboard on the smaller waves, and he recalled wanting to try, begging Winona with all he'd had, but his mother had held him back. He was too little, she'd said, and too young. For an hour while he struggled, Winona's arms wrapped around his bare chest because he'd been wearing only his wet swimming trunks, he recalled crying. Those hands had provided him comfort maybe only that one time in his entire life.

But to Jim, those warm hands would be around him for forever.

As he imagined the scent of beach and sun, he wondered if Bones' kiss was going to be like his mother's hands—a distant memory with far more attached to it than there really was, a memory that would never really provide him the comfort that he'd thought it would.

A shallow, deceiving memory that he allowed himself to go on believing anyway.

"Captain," a firm, feminine voice stated, nudging him back to reality.

He had no voice left, and his body— _his sacrifice_ —demanded that he remain dependent, no matter how hard his mind told him not to. With Nora's hand guiding him, he lifted himself to a seated position on the bed, squirming as he adjusted to the catheter for a second time. He managed to put on the shirt that Nora handed him all by himself, but the loose fitting pants were a different story.

"Leonard or I will check this for you later on this morning," Nora said quietly, indicating to the bag attached to Jim's leg, which was also attached to the tubing curling around his thigh. "You'll be fine walking and sitting, Jim, so don't think that this changes that."

Jim rubbed a bit of sleep from the corner of his eye and nodded. What else _could_ he do, rant? Rail at everyone? Behave as bitchy as Jocelyn? He had nothing. Nothing.

Nora finished helping him get ready, something in her eyes saying she was worried about him. Jim wondered if maybe he'd been out of it longer than he’d thought.

"They're waiting for you," she murmured.

It was meant as encouragement to help him stand and move, but he closed his eyes, breathing in as slowly as possible to delay the inevitable. How the hell was he even supposed to act when he saw Bones? He'd been in a lip lock with him less than an hour ago. How could he even look at his best friend when he wanted to do the same thing again?

Jim made a faint noise at the back of his throat.

Unfortunately, Nora noticed. "Jim, is there something... else I need to do for you," Nora hesitated, "or, is there something I did..."

Jim's eyes shot open. The last thing he wanted to do was make things difficult for Bones’ mom, and the last thing he wanted to say to her was that he'd kissed her son and wanted to do it again.

He licked his dry lips and shook his head several times.

"Alright, James," she said, a hint of disbelief in her eyes. "I'll be right beside you."

Jim brought himself to his feet, the loose-limbed feeling he'd felt first thing this morning having dissipated. He felt a surge of happiness. That meant he was stronger today. Maybe still dependent, his body forcing him to rely on injections, contraptions, and his doctor, but he was stronger.

His hands felt clammy and cold as soon the door to the hallway opened, and he could literally feel his knees knocking together later as he stood in the doorway of the living room. Sure enough, as he blinked and looked around, feeling small in the McCoys' world, he saw Bones and Jojo waiting for him on the other side of the room. Somehow, he managed to look only at Jojo. She beamed at him. He tried to smile back. That he failed didn't matter. The girl went straight for him.

"Jojo," Bones called out crisply.

Jim tensed, more from the sharp tone of Bones' voice than the fact that the seven year old was about to collide with him. Jojo widened her eyes, barely stopping herself in time. She curled her hands into fists. So did Jim.

"You really are ski—" she began.

"Jojo!" Bones practically shouted, cutting her off.

Jim frowned, not understanding why Bones had yelled, or why Jojo's cheeks had suddenly become flushed.

"Sorry," Jojo breathed out, "Uncle Jim, can I touch you?"

Jim blinked at the odd question, but before he could even nod, Jojo wrapped her arms around his waist. He put his own around her and lifted his gaze, ironically, straight toward the doctor on the other side of the room. He blinked again, not sure if he'd imagined the subtle curve of Bones' mouth or not. He wasn't even sure how to read Bones at this moment because the hazel eyes held some kind of expression Jim didn't recognize.

"You're here," the small girl said, affection in her voice.

Jim felt her eyes on him and looked back down at her. Distraction or not, he _was_ here. He lifted his hand and ran the back of it across her wet cheek, wiping away her tears.

"I couldn't wait to see you," she whispered. "Me and my daddy and Nana will take care of you."

He'd comforted her plenty of times before when she'd been scared or hurt, but this time, things were reversed. He wasn't surprised when his heart squeezed some of the breath from him. It was…different being on this side of things.

"Jojo, sweetheart," Nora said softly, probably noticing the way he'd wavered on his feet. "Let James get to his chair, now."

"Okay," Jojo said in a small voice.

She pulled away from Jim, and his arm fell to his side, but other than that, he didn't budge. Her innocence imprinted in his mind, making things click as he stared at her.

If he hadn't done what he'd had to do for his ship and crew, Jojo would not have her father. She'd have Jocelyn, a woman whose bitterness seemed never-ending, no matter what happiness she had in front of her. Jojo would have Nora, a woman whose heart may have shattered when her son left this life, like her husband had a decade prior.

His life was a small price to pay compared to that, wasn't it?

Jim regained just enough of his courage to walk forward. Like some stately procession, every eye was upon him as he made for the spot they'd prepared. It was a much different chair than the one he claimed on the Enterprise, he wouldn't be giving orders from it. Far from it, actually, but it still seemed made just for him.

Tucked into a corner where he could be miserable and quietly out of the way, Bones standing beside it like he would’ve on the bridge, was the chair. Jim swallowed and tried not to look at Bones while he thought about it. Nora kept a hand on Jojo's shoulders, restraining her so they remained behind as he walked. Some of his tension fell away when he finally made it there on his own. He paused, waiting for Bones to tell him what to do. When he met Bones' gaze, his eyes widened involuntarily like they seemed to always do whenever he was nervous.

"This chair is good for anything, Jim. Sleeping, too," Bones explained, his voice now sweet to Jim's ears, the Georgian accent strong and vibrant.

Jim almost smiled in relief. The bite in Bones' voice was gone. He wondered if the doctor realized for himself that his accent really came out when he was home.

"It will recline if you'd rather stay out here instead of going back to the bedroom when you're tired."

As Bones helped Jim situate himself in the chair, he fell into a slight daze. Bones' expression resembled his sickbay look, the one that was mostly doctor and almost unapproachable. That meant that Bones was trying to act like nothing had happened between them.

Like the kiss had never occurred.

Maybe it was for the best.

Bones leaned over and fixed Jim's pillow behind his back. It was impossible not to breathe in the pleasing scent of Bones' aftershave, even if he felt dizzy doing it. He exhaled a shaky breath, struck by the steady hands spreading a blanket over him. _Doctor_.

Jim closed his eyes and sucked in another long breath as the same hands brushed up against his shoulder, Bones adjusting the pillow for a second time. It was an accidental touch but a caress all the same. _Friend_.

Jim's fingers curled around the blanket, muscles relaxing against the pillow. It was uncomfortable for a moment, but that soon passed. When the scent of the aftershave faded, he realized that Bones had backed away.

He told himself that it was for the best.

"I don't want you to feel stuck here, Jim, but I don't think you'll want to move around much today," Bones murmured. "You may later, when things get a little more bearable. I'll give you a mild pain reliever in a sec. You didn't have therapy yesterday, and you're not in a position to have it today, either. Unfortunately, your body is going to feel stiffer than you've been used to the next time you get up."

Sadly, Jim didn't mind staying right where he was at. This chair may be his only anchor to get through the next few days.

"Daddy," Jojo whispered. "Ya forgot something."

Jim opened his eyes and rolled his head toward her.

"Nana's pancakes," she said in a hushed voice. "Can we ask Uncle Jim if he wants one now?"

"Oh," Bones blinked. "Right."

Jim's lips twitched. Jojo looked earnestly back and forth between them.

Bones cleared his throat. "Jim, Jojo is a bit worried that you're going to...miss out. I'm sure you heard what she said, so I won't pester you and ask twice."

Jim could probably manage to eat one. He held up his index finger.

"One?" Bones asked.

Jim nodded. Jojo lit up. So did Bones.

"Good," Bones said, his face showing obvious relief.

Jim tamped down the guilt that he was worrying Bones. One pancake really meant that much to Bones? Hell, maybe he should try to eat a full stack.

"I know you asked for your comm, but it'd be impossible for you to use it, at least for today," Bones said, then hesitated as he pulled a device out from a bag beside the chair. "Will this do?"

It wasn't Jim's PADD, but a bigger one. The screen was larger, and so was the keyboard.

"Your voice won't be gone forever, and more than likely will be back in a day or two," Bones explained. "But, I figured you wanted to at least talk to Spock soon and maybe a few others. You'll be able to type and they'll be able to see you, their esteemed captain. The best of both worlds."

Jim arched a brow.

Bones scowled. "Of course they want to see you, ya moron. Esteemed or not, you’re their captain and friend.”

As Bones handed Jim the device, Nora ushered Jojo back to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Jojo would be a good helper. Jim knew, because he liked helping Nora and Jojo in the kitchen. His fingers dug into the edges of the PADD, thinking of the mess they'd made the last time, homemade cookie dough in their hair and on their faces. Bones had complained that Jim was worse than a kid, and Bones was right. He really was worse than a kid.

"Jim," Bones said.

After a few seconds he pulled himself out of the fog he was in and looked up. The doctor's brows were knitted together, indicating that he was either focused or worried—or both.

 _What_ , Jim mouthed.

"There's something I want to show you, but I need to see the device for a second." Bones drew a breath. "If that's alright."

Bones gripped the device now, but so did Jim and he might have even glared at Bones a little. This was his one and only way to connect to the outside world. Like hell he was letting go.

Bones' eyes softened. "Jimbo, I'll give it back," Bones said. Jim bit his lip, not convinced. "I promise," Bones added.

Jim pried his fingers off the device, and true to his word, Bones didn't keep it for long. Bones set up a screen and wordlessly handed it back to him. A little uneasy, he looked down at the device in his hand. The world suddenly stopped spinning as soon as he saw the holo.

Three faces stared back at him. Three happy, contented faces of people he recognized. They were in front of a house, sitting on the front steps. Two were in uniform.

"Lieutenant Lynette Carter and her husband, Ensign Patrick Carter," Bones announced. "Lynette is one of your crewmembers, as you know. Engineering. That's their only child, a boy, who just turned six. Had a birthday last week."

Jim traced the child's face with his finger. Six years old. Six. Not much younger than Joanna.

"Lynette stopped by at Starfleet General several days ago and told me that all he wanted was a starship shaped cake." Bones gave a short laugh. "With the Enterprise written on top instead of his own name, and also...yours."

Jim rapidly blinked his eyes, more emotion than he cared for swelling in his chest. He wanted Bones to stop talking—to just fucking stop—so he didn't have to experience the pain.

But, the doctor had a different idea. "Because the Enterprise brought his mother safely back home," Bones added in a quiet voice. "She told me that he wants a picture with you someday, when you're back on your feet."

A tear slipped out. Jim stubbornly allowed the tear to slide down his cheek without wiping it away. He wasn't falling apart. He hadn't in the past five weeks he'd been conscious. He wasn't going to do that now. Not here, not now, and quite possibly never.

"You did that, Jim," Bones said softly. “You brought them back together.”

He wasn't going to do this. Didn't Bones know? _Never_.

"Lieutenant Carter wanted me to tell you when it was the right time and no sooner. I think there are things you need to know that you did, including this...and now that you're here...with us...as you're healing," Bones paused. "I believe that now is the right time."

Jim couldn't catch his breath as he cried, but he wasn't alone. A familiar pair of arms folded around him. Jim’s shoulders shook as he tried to suppress all that threatened to spill over, fighting against his own instinct to curl into Bones.

“It's okay, Jim,” Bones breathed into his hair.

It wasn't okay, he wanted to scream at Bones. How could anything ever be right again?

“Just let it out, buddy,” Bones murmured. “This is a safe place.”

Safe. Bones. The two words had always been synonymous to Jim. He could almost still believe that, despite everything.

“Jim, I promise you,” Bones whispered urgently. “You're safe with me.”

Bones’ arms tightened around him, the only assurance he ever really needed, and that was all it took for him to let go.

 


	5. (I can't pretend) though I like to try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Sorry I am such a slow writer lately, but at least I managed to update a few days shy of three weeks! :) Whew...it took me awhile, mainly because I tried something different. Also, the story demands extra attention that is hard to come by right now. I know the word count is higher, but here's the thing. I backtracked for the first scene, to give you McCoy's POV. It's the first time I've EVER done anything like this. I was going to only go back so far to get into the scene better, and then it kept creeping back even more. So I decided to just go with it! Part of the first scene is new, the second one is completely new.
> 
> The first scene is in McCoy's POV and starts when McCoy and Jojo are waiting for Jim in the living room. (That scene was written from Jim's POV at the end of the last chapter.) HUGE Pike feels in this one, and a few things may be sensitive/triggery since we are dealing with Jim coming to grips with stuff post-warp core. 
> 
> I have been learning quite a bit from the lovely, talented MissBAMF. I'm very thankful. :)
> 
> To all of you reading and commenting - I greatly appreciate each and every review so much! I honestly get so inspired when you all comment. Keeps me going! Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

McCoy reckoned he had half a dozen first kisses under his belt, maybe more. A conservative number since he never liked to boast about those things. The evening he'd taken Jocelyn home after their third date, they'd fumbled under the light of the front porch like the teenagers they were, forgetting that her father always waited just behind the front door. After getting an earful from him, McCoy went home with Red Divine smeared on his mouth, Jocelyn's favorite lipstick for years.

Time passed fairly quickly for him after that, the next day like a blink of an eye and his second kiss with Jocelyn a hell of a lot less messy. A liplock with Rhonda soon after he'd gotten engaged to Jocelyn had been both electrifying and a mistake. The first kiss with Jocelyn after their broken engagement had been so sweet it twisted him up inside after their divorce, clear up to the day he'd stepped onto the shuttle and met a man with as much to run from as McCoy had, possibly more.

Thankfully, the other first kisses he'd had were vague memories of no consequence. The kiss with Jim was the only one that caused time to stand still.

McCoy was certain the peach tree sapling in his mama's backyard had grown two meters since he’d last seen Jim. It also seemed fitting that he should feel like he'd aged ten or so years waiting, but he didn't. Instead, for some strange reason that he couldn't exactly pinpoint, it was as if he'd deaged an entire decade. He worried, wondering if Nora was moving him along as planned or if Jim even had the energy now to progress to the living room. His mama had promised to come get him if Jim needed him. So far, he'd heard nothing. All he could do was wait.

Time seemed to operate as it always had for everyone else, or at least it did for his small assistant.  
Jojo didn't appear to mind waiting at all.

"Daddy, I think I'll read one of my favorite books to Uncle Jim," she chattered, fluffing Jim's pillow. "It's short, only twenty-four pages long, so I don't think he'll fall asleep when I read. Do you?"

McCoy's lips twitched up. "No, I don't think he would."

"You really think so?" Jojo paused and stared up at him, trusting that he'd give her the answer she wanted to hear.

Luckily, he could. "Yes, and he'd like whatever book you choose to read him, Jojo," he added quietly. Jim literally liked anything Jojo liked, within reason.

She smiled, content with his reply. While she retrieved her book from the schoolbag she'd placed by the chair, McCoy looked down at the alert on his PADD. He'd sent Spock a brief note on Jim's progress only a few minutes ago. Early in his recuperation, Jim had given McCoy permission to tell Spock anything and everything about his medical progress if it was important and would help morale. The information he'd sent Spock may not necessarily help morale at this time, but it was damn important.

It didn't surprise him that Spock replied so promptly.

_Doctor McCoy, I am dismayed to hear that Jim experienced additional adverse side effects to this week's drug therapy. My concern for his comfort and health are relieved to some degree, however, in knowing that you are acting in the captain’s best interests. If there is anything that I can do to assist both you and Jim, do not hesitate to ask._

_In regards to your other question, Doctor McCoy, I have no other engagements today. I will be awaiting Jim's call._

McCoy had wanted to make sure the commander was aware that Jim wanted to speak with him later. Not speak, of course, but _see_ Jim when he used the new PADD McCoy brought along with them to Georgia. Now that he knew Spock was free today, he could go through with his plan without worrying. He could just imagine Jim's reaction if he tried to contact Spock only to find him too busy. Jim didn't need that kind of disappointment. He had a feeling Spock had cleared his entire damn day for the chance to speak with Jim.

He felt a tug at his shirt. Frowning, he glanced down.

"Daddy, you weren't listenin'," Jojo complained. She sighed exasperatedly, peering up at him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, offering her a smile. "I was reading a message from Mister Spock."

"Is he coming to visit, too?" Her eyes danced with excitement.

He rubbed his jaw, hating to let her down. "Well, no..."

"Why not?"

"He has things to do while Uncle Jim is recuperating," he said.

"Oh," her brow furrowed. "Like taking care of Uncle Jim's ship?"

"Some, yes," McCoy nodded, returning to Spock's message to type a reply.

"Well, then I better help Uncle Jim get better faster. Maybe we can watch a movie?" she continued excitedly.

His fingers stilled. He gave her a sideways glance, catching the gleam in her eye. A movie. Like old times.

But then he envisioned the hollow look to Jim's eyes lately, matching his thin frame, and the things they'd center their conversation around, Pike no longer one of them. He imagined Jojo diving into a bowl of popcorn and Jim, hands under a blanket, avoiding food he couldn't stomach. He imagined someday, maybe even a few months from now, not able to even talk to Jojo, thanks to Jocelyn, and telling Jim that he couldn't, either.

No, not like old times.

But, perhaps out of the three of them, Jojo was up to making new times, new memories.

"Maybe," he paused, making an effort to smile at her. "I'm sure that whatever you and Uncle Jim decide to do today will be perfect."

Jojo skipped away happily, going back to her work. She still wasn't bothered by the eternity passing as she set Jim's water bottle on the stand by the chair, or she'd be staring at the other side of the room like McCoy kept doing. He sighed and pulled himself out of his self-pity.

He finished his reply to Spock and double-checked his messages for a response from Admiral Archer. He had almost everything finalized, he merely needed the go-ahead from Archer to keep Jim here in Atlanta. Jim's therapists were already on board and willing to make trips to Georgia for the next several weeks, but McCoy wouldn't mention it to Jim until it was official.

Just when he was thinking about knocking on the bedroom door, Jim appeared at the edge of the room. McCoy straightened, holding himself back when Jim's tired eyes fixated on the brightest spot there was—Jojo.

It was understandable, the love between those two a force of its own. Maybe Jojo would be just what Jim needed today to keep healing, especially after what McCoy soon wanted to share with him.

Jim walked forward, almost hesitant in his steps but the steps themselves stronger than yesterday's. McCoy wasn't worried about Jim making it to the chair on his own until Jojo made a beeline for him.

His heart jolted. Jim wasn’t strong enough for Jojo’s exuberance and energy. "Jojo," he warned as Jojo dashed away.

Jim's shoulders snapped to like a taut fishing line. McCoy hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but it wouldn't do if Jim was plowed over before he had a chance to breathe.

Jojo halted in her tracks just before she slammed into the sick man. Her back was to McCoy, but by the way her hands formed small fists, he could imagine the intensity in which she was taking in Jim's appearance.

"You really are ski—" she began.

Dammit, that wasn't something he wanted Jim to be reminded of. Not now. "Jojo!" McCoy interjected.

The air thickened. When Jim's face grew pained, he wished he hadn't been forced to shout, causing the man undue stress.

"Sorry," Jojo whispered. "Uncle Jim, can I touch you?"

Jojo plastered herself against Jim, giving him no chance to deny her love. McCoy couldn't help but smile a little when her arms snaked around Jim's waist. That was his girl.

Jim blinked, looking out of sorts, but brought his arms around Jojo just like he would have on any other day.

"You're here," Jojo whispered, head tipped back to look up at Jim. "I couldn't wait to see you. Me and my daddy and Nana will take care of you."

Jim's eyes warmed as he stared down at her, but McCoy could see him teetering on his feet from here. He signaled his mother with a shake of his head that Jim had to get moving.

"Jojo, sweetheart," Nora urged, voice firm. "Let James get to this chair, now."

"Okay," Jojo agreed, sounding small.

McCoy restrained himself from coming to his aid. Jim hardly had any independence lately, so it was the least he could do, giving him a chance to spread his wings. Jim walked across the room, steadier on his feet than expected, looking straight at the empty chair the entire damn time.

In fact, he could easily see that he was trying very hard not to look at him at all.

Jim wouldn't look at him, and it all pointed to their abbreviated kiss. Had Jim hated it that much? Was that it? Had he deceived himself into thinking Jim had actually enjoyed the kiss?

Or, he thought slowly, was it that he'd left Jim in the bathroom, alone, thinking about why he’d left him, about why he'd never came back and sent his mother, instead.

McCoy took a closer look at Jim, noting that his expression resembled that of a kicked puppy.

So this was what it felt like to be scum, the lowest of the low. He’d thought Jim had needed space after what happened. Clearly, he should have tried harder to go back for Jim.

Like he always did.

Just like Jim needed someone to.

McCoy sank lower, if that was even possible. Dammit, how could he have been so stupid? Jim's sensitivity to things like that was beyond what was normal. It always had been and McCoy suspected that would never change. Jim's mother never returned for him, Sam left, never to come back, and now...McCoy could easily be lumped together right along with others who'd abandoned him.

At a time like this, when everything was so tedious for Jim, something as simple as sending Nora to help him instead with his bath would convey the same message. Especially after the briefest moments of passion.

True, McCoy had Jojo to care for, but his mom would have watched her for him. Granted, Jojo might have told Jocelyn that her Daddy hadn't spent much time with her, Jojo herself perhaps feeling hurt, but this was _Jim_. McCoy simply hadn't gone back for him, end of story.

Because Jojo was in the room now, he didn’t have the privacy he’d need to talk to Jim. He absolutely hated that he'd have to wait.

But...maybe there something else he could do to show Jim how he felt. What, he had no idea. At least, not yet.

Eyes unsurprisingly averted, Jim made his way to where McCoy stood. He could tell just tell by the way Jim held himself that the man was using the catheter. He made a mental note to check Jim's bag within the hour. Or, he thought quickly, his mother would. There'd be no reason to add to the awkwardness Jim was already experiencing.

Once Jim reached the chair, he glanced up at McCoy, eyes bluer and more vulnerable than ever. Suddenly, McCoy didn't want to wait to discuss a single damn thing.

He wanted Jim all to himself.

"This chair is good for anything, Jim. Sleeping, too," he explained, words stilted, his light-headedness now making sense.

Jim. All pointed to Jim.

McCoy's heart picked up speed. If that kiss actually meant something to Jim too, what were they now? Would they be anything? Would Jim want to be?

What if Jim didn't want them to be anything?

"It will recline if you'd rather stay out here instead of going back to the bedroom when you're tired," he said, hoping that Jim would elect to stay out in the living room.

It would do him good. But it would do them all a lot of good just seeing Jim up and around.

As Jim settled into the seat, McCoy forced himself to pause and focus on Jim rather than go through the motions. He adjusted Jim's pillow, smoothed a blanket over him, and planned in his own head what he'd say to him later. Before he stood back, he couldn't help but adjust the pillow again, arm brushing against Jim's back and shoulder. It had been a simple and accidental touch, but he relished it. With his eyes closed, Jim had actually appeared peaceful through the whole thing.

Maybe he was doing something right.

"Daddy," Jojo whispered. "You forgot somethin'."

He doubted that. No. Not with Jim like this.

"Nana's pancakes," she added, looking almost irritated with him, just like her mother would be if he'd forgotten breakfast. "Can we ask Uncle Jim if he wants one now?"

"Oh," McCoy said, shaking his head at himself. Leave it to Jojo to think of everything that had to do with her Uncle Jim. McCoy didn't know how he'd forgotten, but sure enough, he had. "Right."

His stomach rumbled. Nora's pancakes melted in your mouth, especially when there was fruit drizzled on top. But as much as he liked them, someone else like them even better—Jim. Today though, sadly, Jim probably wouldn't even try to eat one.

Jim's weight would soon be a bigger problem if there was no improvement with his appetite after today. And, if McCoy had to go another day with Jim Kirk eating pickier than a hen, he would confine himself in a room. As dramatic as it sounded, it would be better for everyone if he dealt with his frustration and anxiety alone, in a way that didn't involve destroying something.

Like the time he had destroyed his office, Jim looking like he wasn't going to make it that first week he'd been in a coma.

And in a way that also didn't involve excessive drinking, because the present issue with Jocelyn alone was trying enough to send him back to the bottle. Things with her always had in the past. Before the divorce, his issues with Jocelyn had driven him into a sort of madness of his own making, alcohol being more than pleasant company when she'd kicked him to the couch and then, later, out of the house.

Jim's aversion to food simply had to stop. The next round of treatment would induce the same lack of appetite. If Jim ate well for at least four days before then, McCoy would worry a hell of a lot less.

Remembering that Jim was still waiting, McCoy cleared his throat. He didn't expect Jim to agree, but he'd ask, anyway. "Jim, Jojo is a bit worried that you're going to...miss out. I'm sure you heard what she said, so I won't pester you and ask twice."

It was a damn miracle when Jim held up his right index finger. McCoy couldn't believe it.

"Good," he said, shoulders sagging in relief. It was better than good. One pancake was better than none, was better than broth, but only if Jim could keep it down. "I know you asked for your comm, but it'd be impossible for you to use it, at least for today."

He hesitated as he pulled a device out from a bag beside the chair. This was a lot for Jim, but the only way he could really communicate with anyone while he was without a voice.

Even before he lifted it out of the bag, Jim's eyes widened with anticipation. And no wonder. The screen was bigger, as was the keyboard, and maybe even shinier. Jim Kirk liked shiny new things. Most importantly, Jim would be able to actually talk to someone other than McCoy, Nora, and Jojo while they were here in Atlanta.

_And Jocelyn._

Let Joce insult Jim again? Over his dead body.

McCoy shook the bitter thought about his ex away and moved on.

"Your voice won't be gone forever, and more than likely will be back in a day or two," he explained. Although he hated Jim had to deal with these side effects, it meant the drug therapy was working. "But, I figured you wanted to at least talk to Spock soon and maybe a few others. You'll be able to type and they'll be able to see you, their esteemed captain. The best of both worlds."

Jim arched a brow.

Uhura and Sulu had left Jim messages, two each since yesterday, both asking about Jim and when they could speak with him. Mr. Scott had left five. And then there was Spock, who basically had an open line going with McCoy. How was that not interest?

McCoy wanted to smack some sense into Jim, but it would be better for them both if he just kissed him for a second time. He imagined it would be just as good as the first, if not better.

Catching himself, he scowled. He wasn't some love-struck teenager. He had a job to do that did not involve fantasizing about Jim.

"Of course they want to see you, ya moron," he said gruffly before Jim's brow raised higher. "Esteemed or not, you're their captain and friend."

While Jim was upright and awake, color rising on his cheeks, it was time. McCoy couldn't wait another second, and reaching _Jim_ couldn't wait now that he saw his opportunity. McCoy first exchanged a glance with his mother. Jim was putting up a brave front, but it wasn't hard to see that the morning activities had drained his energy.

Nora sent him a look that she understood, and McCoy handed Jim the PADD. The eager expression Jim gave him sent a warmth straight through his chest. Hell, it really didn't take much to make him happy. It didn't take much these days to make Jim happy. Unfortunately, it didn't take much to irritate Jim, either.

"Sweetheart, come with me," Nora murmured, resting her hands on Jojo's shoulders.

"Aww, but, Nana!" Jojo protested.

"Jojo, your father needs to talk with James,” Nora reprimanded her tenderly only as a grandmother would. “And I can't be without my best helper. Who else is going to lick the bowl clean?"

"Me, Nana! Me!" Jojo chimed, now pulling Nora to the kitchen. "Bye, Uncle Jim! I'll be back!"

Once the two were out of sight, McCoy didn't wait. Except, as his attention went back to Jim, he realized Jim wasn't giving another thought to the device in his hand. He probably hadn't even heard Jojo's goodbye.

Instead, Jim was staring off into space, lost in his own world, face losing that bit of color.

"Jim," McCoy called, trying to break Jim's daze. When Jim didn't acknowledge him, doubt filled him that this was the best time to bring up anything related to the warp core incident.

While he contemplated foregoing the next conversation altogether, Jim looked up at him, eyes narrowly focusing. _What?_ he mouthed.

"There's something I want to show you, but I need to see the device for a second," McCoy explained, seeing a little more clarity in those eyes. "If that's alright."

He reached down and gripped Jim's device. So did Jim, firmly and with both hands, sending McCoy a glare saying that he meant business.

"Jim, I'll give it back," McCoy said, fighting the urge to lift his brow in amusement.

But then Jim bit his lip, wincing like it hurt, as if McCoy was taking his only prized possession.

McCoy filled with even more guilt than he'd had minutes ago. First he leaves the man alone while taking a bath when he clearly needed company, and then he's stealing his link to the outside world. Maybe it was a little mean to take the device back from a man like Jim who prided his independence, if for only a moment. But, there was no other way to show Jim. What else could he do?

Jim was sometimes a cocky bastard, yes, but most times Jim just couldn't understand the good he'd done unless it was right in front of him. This was one of those times.

"I promise," McCoy stressed for Jim's sake.

Jim let go, albeit reluctantly, and unlike before, watched McCoy's every move as he pulled up the holos and gave the device back to him.

"Lieutenant Lynette Carter and her husband, Ensign Patrick Carter," McCoy said, although Jim knew perfectly well who there were, just as Jim knew every other name and face of his crew. "Lynette is one of your crewmembers, as you know. Engineering. That's their only child, a boy, who just turned six. Had a birthday last week. Lynette stopped by at Starfleet General several days ago and told me that all he wanted was a starship shaped cake."

He chuckled, finding the next idea so charming as he thought of it again. He and Jim didn't normally exchange flowery words of praise between them, but this was different. "With the Enterprise written on top instead of his own name, and also...yours."

McCoy didn't imagine it. Jim was listening. The holo of the Carters, the family of the woman he'd saved, the small boy who had his birthday, held Jim's complete attention as he traced a finger over the boy's face.

"Because the Enterprise brought his mother safely back home. She told me that he wants a picture with you someday, when you're back on your feet," McCoy said, pausing when a tear spilled over and down Jim's cheek. "You did that, Jim. You brought them back together."

McCoy finished. Jim's face had crumpled long before he was done.

Jim leaned forward, breaths coming in gasps. McCoy knelt beside him, well-aware that Jim had nothing to support his back. As Jim’s defenses broke down, McCoy filled with an emotion he hadn't felt before when it had come to Jim, at least not in this capacity.

He wanted to protect Jim, his captain, his best friend, _the man he'd kissed_ , more than anything in the world. Seeing Jim in so much emotional pain, pain that was all too necessary, wrecked McCoy.

Falling into the role of friend over doctor, he wrapped his arms around Jim, curving a hand around the base of his neck to pull him close. Which wasn't much, since Jim had restrained himself despite the emotions coming to a head.

"It's okay, Jim," McCoy murmured, not even sure if Jim heard him. "Just let it out, buddy. This is a safe place."

McCoy tugged him closer, Jim's head just pressing against McCoy's chest. Still, Jim fought him, refusing to give in to the rest of his emotion and feel that total release.

But this couldn't wait, and McCoy pressed on. It was instinctive, this _need_ to reach Jim.

"Jim, I promise you," he whispered urgently in his ear. "You're safe with me."

That was all it took, his vow to be someone to Jim that he'd never had in his life. Jim surrendered in his arms and sobbed the most heart-wrenching rasping, throaty sounds he had ever heard. That Jim couldn't speak only made his cries a million times worse.

"Just let it out, Buddy," McCoy said, voice stronger than it should be when a lump formed in his throat. "I'm here for you, Jim. Take all the time you need."

Jim clung to him like his life depended upon it. He clung back, vowing that nothing would ever get in his way of being a haven for Jim.

McCoy closed his eyes, but soon discovered his mistake.

He should've known better, but he’d had the confidence of a doctor who'd dealt with death even before Starfleet. Arrogance, really. As he held Jim, he had nothing to think about but what had ultimately broken Jim, bringing them here to this point.

It was like an addiction, the remembering. He was damned if he did, damned if didn't, for who else was going to take up the mantel of caring for Jim Kirk like he was? Who else did McCoy even _trust_ to do anything in regards to Jim's recuperation? After _all_ that he'd done to save him?

Far too few.

He hated the thought of Jim's death but it always came back to that, didn't it? Since his life revolved around Jim, since he'd naively thought the ship had been saved only to discover that Jim had breathed his life at the same time. His chest squeezed, recalling the moment when the body had come in. His mouth simply hadn't worked. He'd stood silently, a void forming in his chest like it did when you'd lost something you loved more than yourself.

_When you simply loved._

They'd brought the body in, the Hazmat suits telling him what he already knew, the silence foreshadowing his greatest fear. Everyone in the room, save McCoy, held their breath.

No longer the steadiest hands on the ship, he had unzipped the bag, the only sound filling the room beside his own heavy breathing. Fingers trembling, he'd let go of the makeshift coffin, arm falling against the table, hope crashing to the floor, world coming to a complete and utter stop.

McCoy kept still, standing in the shadows, watching himself face the worst moment of his life, when his world shattered into oblivion. Jim's lifeless face was everywhere he looked, those once brilliant eyes now empty and stars already faded from them. He didn't think of it then, but he did now. Maybe it had been a small mercy Jim hadn't called for him from behind the glass. McCoy never had to watch the stars leaving Jim, as Jim left _them_.

_Small mercy._

Deep down, he knew that was a damned lie he told himself to feel better. Out of anyone, he should have been there. It had been his place, too, right along with Spock's. No question. He should have been there when his best friend had fucking _died_.

But he was Leonard Horatio McCoy. Of course things hadn't exactly gone the way that they should.

His father's illness and death had proved that long ago.

So no one had called him that his best friend had minutes. No one called until it was over and they needed him. And then Jim was _gone_. Without Jim, there was nothing. No man to follow. No direction. No purpose to drag him out of his messy, miserable past. No life for McCoy. He'd been too late and now all he had was this.

The body of his best friend and a fucking autopsy to perform.

The body of...McCoy sucked in a ragged breath, trying to bring himself back as a metaphorical knife ripped into his heart. This wasn't right. Jim was here, his warm body in his arms. Shaking in his grief, dependent upon McCoy.

He was still the doctor who kept his shit together, dammit. He didn't panic, didn't have vivid flashbacks just because he'd seen a dead body. He didn't lose it even if that body had been Jim's. He didn't lose himself and throw his training out the window just because Jim was working through his grief.

McCoy was healing, just like Jim. He was healing, wasn't he? He had to be. He had a fucking job to do, a man who depended upon him. He had to be strong, ready to face whatever else being a Starfleet officer would bring their way.

Goddammit, Leonard Horatio McCoy held it together.

McCoy curled his hand around Jim's head, fingers disappearing in Jim's hair, the skin to skin contact grounding him to reality. Jim wasn't dead. He was here with him. Jim was _here_. He was _alive_. McCoy knew this. He remembered Jim's cold, dead body but he had proof of Jim's tears, bleeding through his shirt. Jim's sweat rubbing off on him. Jim's breaths bursting in warm gasps along his skin. The emotion ruthlessly pounding Jim's body, the dramatic rise and fall of Jim's chest, all felt by McCoy as he held him.

"It's okay, buddy," McCoy whispered. "I gotcha."

He centered himself around Jim, like he always did, though Jim felt like a different man. This one was practically skin and bones, shoulders quaking and soul wrecked by emotion suppressed for far too long, no bravado left, except....there was. Falling apart in front of someone else took courage. But a small part of McCoy wondered if Jim would have chosen to do this had he not influenced, pushed, or otherwise twisted his arm.

Did that even matter? He'd promised Jim that he was safe with him, hadn't he? He was going to make damn sure that Jim had no reason to doubt him.

Jim's tears continued in waves, his cries mixing with mostly hoarse, unintelligible words.

"I know, Jim, I know," McCoy murmured the only encouragement he knew, running his hand through Jim's hair in a gesture that always comforted the younger man. Now it was a selfish gesture grounding McCoy to reality. "Let it all out, buddy. You have all the time you need."

Jim's mostly soundless weeping became harder for him to bear, especially when he thought he'd heard the word _Pike_ at one time, and then _my fault._  He sensed Jim's guilt for surviving, but it didn't matter that he couldn't understand anything else. He could always understand Jim Kirk.

“No. _No_ , Jim, it wasn't your fault,” McCoy emphasized.

Jim’s head moved side to side, cries wracking his thin frame so violently McCoy worried Jim would injure himself.

“ _It wasn't your fault._ The others... they made their own choices, Jim…” McCoy's voice trailed off when another interrupted him.

"Leonard," Nora said, barely overreaching his muddle of thoughts and Jim’s heart-wrenching, raspy cries.

McCoy glanced past Jim's head to his mother, a woman whose life experiences seemed to have given her a sixth sense, now standing a meter away. She held out his medbag, eyes encouraging, forcing him back into his role as a doctor.

“I thought you might need this,” Nora said.

God bless his mother. He did need that medbag.

The continuous release of tears indicated that Jim would benefit from the anti-anxiety medication McCoy had packed in that very bag, a drug prescribed by Jim's psychiatrist. More depended upon Jim being fairly calm than McCoy would like to admit, including Jim's ability to stay in a safe, mental place despite his PTSD. If the drug treatments could set him off, McCoy was afraid that an emotional episode like this could provoke the same result, even if the release was necessary.

Then there were the detested neurogenic tremors. He hadn't seen signs of them yet this morning. For Jim's sake, he didn't want to. It was obvious how hard they were on Jim, a man who preferred to be in control of himself. They only served as a reminder of how far away his command really was.

McCoy may be off-kilter himself, but he didn't know Jim Kirk as good as he did only to be lead to this point and not be prepared for the repercussions. Blood pressure, heart rate...all needed to be addressed before there was another domino effect with disastrous results on his hands.

"There would be fine," he said, indicating with a tip of his head for her to place it right beside him on the floor. "Joanna?"

"I gave her something to do," Nora said softly. "She knows to be quiet and wait for me.”

McCoy shifted Jim in his arms so he had one hand free, also opening a clean spot on Jim's neck for the hypospray, but Jim startled.

"Jim, it'll be a small pin—" McCoy began but Jim's arms tightened around him, momentarily squeezing the breath from him. "Jim...buddy...I'm not..."

Jim curled into him, his hands roving along McCoy's back as if he didn't know what to do in his panic, didn't know how to communicate without his voice. Jim clawed at him, chin inching forward, pressing uncomfortably against his chest, enough to leave a bruise. That was the least of his worries. He didn't need eyes on the back of his head to know that Jim's hands were far from steady.

“Leonard, if you'd like me to..." Nora’s voice trailed off, her eyes questioning as she continued to hold the bag instead of setting it on the floor.

Despite the tremors, Jim’s fingers dug into McCoy’s skin.

"Jim...I promise. I'm not going anywhere," McCoy said, wincing when Jim's fingers seemed to bruise his skin. His mother was right. He didn't have to administer the drug to a clingy Jim Kirk. Nora could manage the medication instead. "I'm just moving you so my mama can give you something to help settle you."

When Jim didn't reply, McCoy shifted Jim just enough that his head rested more comfortably on McCoy's chest.

"Breathe, Jim," McCoy urged, still feeling Jim's hands at his back. "Breathe with me. Do ya hear my heart?"

Cries diminishing, Jim hiccupped and moved his head up and down as it pressed against McCoy's chest.

"Okay. Good. Focus on that. Focus on me, Jim," McCoy murmured, rubbing Jim's back. "You're safe with me. Always safe. Safe, Jim. Not goin' anywhere."

Jim made a small rumble in his throat, but was otherwise quiet and miraculously still, save for a few shudders of his slight frame. McCoy nodded that he was ready to his mother.

"We'll give him the anti-anxiety med first," he decided quickly, recalling his conversation with Jim's psychiatrist and counselor. They both recommended the dosage be increased from twice a day to four times daily if Jim began to experience his grief in such a manner. "2 mg."

Nora had the hypospray primed and ready before McCoy adjusted his arm, giving his mother a better spot to inject the medication into Jim's neck.

She paused when Jim suddenly hiccuped, also lifting his head at the movement. He turned it sideways on McCoy's chest, giving him a perfect view of his tear-stained cheeks and baby blues filled with raw grief, confusion, sadness...and shame.

 _Shame_.

McCoy would have none of that.

He gave his mother a look, stopping her. He wanted Jim to trust him first, before they did anything else.

"Hey," McCoy said softly, turning his attention back to Jim, running his hand along his cheek.

Jim began to shy away as if to hide.

"Jim," McCoy said, voice firm.

Jim stilled, staring brightly at him, another hiccup following.

"This is what you need, Jim. It's part of healing," McCoy said, tone softening."There is nothing wrong with having a man-cry, alright?"

Jim only blinked, tears falling as if McCoy had given him permission to continue, scrunching his face as another sob wracked his body. McCoy wasn't surprised when Jim smashed his face back into his chest, hands trembling as they pulled at his shirt like before.

McCoy cocooned him in his arms. If Jim needed this much comfort while the world seemed to crash around him, he wouldn't let anything get in his way of giving that to him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jim," he reaffirmed patiently. "But, we need to give you a med. I'll stay just like this for as long as you want, but if you can, I'd like you to try to be as still as you can, Captain."

Jim held his breath, another rumble sounding in his chest as if the word _captain_ meant something to him. McCoy hoped it did, reminding Jim of that goal.

McCoy nodded to Nora. Eyes warm, she administered the medication. Before she pulled away from Jim, she stroked his head and whispered in his ear.

"Leonard, breakfast will be ready soon," Nora said quietly, straightening. "But if you need me before that, just call."

"Thank you," McCoy murmured.

"Anything for the two of you," Nora whispered before taking for the kitchen.

Once his mother disappeared around corner, he tucked his face into Jim's hair, the warmth from Jim's body pleasant against him.

He waited a few seconds, Jim's breaths just beginning to even out. "I'll stay here as long as you need me, Jim," McCoy said.

Jim remained still other than a slight nod. A pleasant silence swelled between them. As time stretched on, pain crept into McCoy's knees, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was Jim.

If Jim couldn't deal with his own grief in a healthy manner, McCoy didn't know how he or any of the rest of Jim's senior command crew could ever begin to move on like they should. Uhura had said as much to him a week ago, speaking on behalf of Spock and everyone else. If Spock's reply to him had been sincere, and he knew it was, Uhura was right. How could any of them truly move on without their captain?

He rubbed his hand along Jim's back in slow circles. They all wanted Jim to return to his command, but he couldn't rush him. They couldn't rush this. He'd give Jim as much time as he needed.

"How's your pain," McCoy said. It wasn't a question.

Jim's body went limp in his arms, as if he'd reached his end.

"Yeah," McCoy said quietly. "I figured.”

He sighed, hand bracing the back of Jim's head as he rested against him. It took all of his self-control not to pick Jim up in his arms and transfer him to the couch. It wouldn't do them either any favors if he took away Jim's independence that way. He was concerned about Jim's back, but he'd promised Jim a day in this damn chair.

And that made him even more surprised when Jim grunted and pushed away from him.

McCoy took his lead but did most of the work, holding Jim in place with hands on his shoulders once he was sitting up.

Jim blinked open his red, puffy eyes, a moan rumbling deep in his chest. He reached up and ran a shaking hand over his face to dry his cheeks, moving like an aged and arthritic man. He even breathed like it hurt.

McCoy worried more. "I'll get ya a heat pack as soon as I know you're okay," he promised, though he'd wait until after Jim ate something before submitting him to another tricorder reading.

He may have been a bit too hasty the other day when all Jim had wanted to do was drink his tea. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. As much as he was itching to pick it up and see what was wrong, the tricorder could wait.

Jim's hand dropped heavily onto his lap as he glanced at McCoy, eyes filled with the same, desperate emotion he'd had earlier.

"There isn't anything to be ashamed about," McCoy said, holding his gaze and connecting them, not allowing Jim’s lack of voice to distance them any further. "It's all part of grieving. I imagine this won't be the last time for it, either, Jim, and that's okay."

Jim swallowed. _Pike_ , he mouthed.

Time stood still, sadness pouring from Jim's eyes, McCoy's heart twisting because he couldn't do more to lessen Jim's pain. It was the first time Jim had ever acknowledged his mentor's death and, dare he even think it, his father figure's death, to McCoy.

"He'd be proud of you, Jim," he finally managed. When Jim could hold himself up, he let go of Jim's shoulders. "Just like I am."

Jim stared at him, eyes widening a fraction.

The words had been unexpected to McCoy, too. "Here," he said gruffly, reaching behind Jim and fixing the pillow to better suit him. "Although I don't think fluffing pillows is listed under my job description, let's get you comfortable before Jojo and my mama are done making our food. You didn't think I'd let you forget about that one pancake you promised you'd eat, did ya? All because of a little man-cry?"

McCoy scowled, something close to a smile crossing Jim's face.

"Yeah, I thought so, you infant," McCoy muttered, using all his self-control not to return the almost-smile. "One pancake, Jim. No excuses. I'll be right back."

He retreated to the kitchen, thoughts awhirl.

His mama had told him early in life that when you wanted something badly enough, you better not take any chances.

Sometimes life gave you multiple chances. Jim was living proof of that.

McCoy just had to decide whether or not he was going to take anymore.

 

oOo

 

Jim stared at the figure walking away. Unlike after the last time Bones had left him, he was experiencing something entirely different now.

For one, he didn't feel abandoned. How could he? Bones had been attentive to his needs far more than Jim had expected. Bones had also held Jim for who knew how long while he’d cried.

Jim didn't know what had gotten into him. He'd been so afraid that Bones was going to leave him while he fell apart. He'd been so afraid that he'd lost control of himself, literally pulling Bones to him, clinging to him like a small child. But Bones had let him, and he'd stayed. Not only that but Bones had even teased him like he used to, going as far as using the scowl that always made him feel good inside.

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed grumpy Bones until now.

And then there was Nora.

 _"I am proud of you, James. You are my son just as much as Leonard is, and I'm so proud of you,"_ she had whispered in Jim's ear.

Her son. Jim’s own mother wouldn't even use that term. In fact, if she ever did, Jim might laugh in her face. It would bring nothing but pain from Winona. It meant complete security coming from Nora.

It meant everything coming from Bones' mom.

Jim wasn't sure the last time he'd felt so content. He sighed, a sudden, sharp pain in his side taking his breath away.

 _Fuck_ , he mouthed, a hoarse moan escaping. He wrapped his arm around his chest and couldn't help but hunch forward, wincing when the pain didn't subside. _Dammit_.

Had he cracked a rib or two during his crying spell? Was he really this frail?

Jim didn't have to look to know there was hardly any fat between his fingers and bone as he gingerly touched around his lower ribs. His hand could encircle his own damn wrist like it was nothing. Nora, even at her age, could pull him up and help him out of the tub by herself. His legs looked sickly and lacked the muscle tone he'd once had, despite hours of PT.

Jim's shoulders sagged. Thanks to the radiation, he really was that frail, though he didn't want to be. These injections had to work, maybe not yet, but soon. They just had to. Still, Bones was probably right to give him this damn med.

Minutes ago, Jim had reduced to a massive mess of emotion. Now his mind felt drifty, thoughts subdued. Was it the med? He didn't recall it affecting him like this before. But he didn't feel like crying anymore, and that was good. He even _wanted_ to eat.

In fact, he was hungry. Really hungry. Weeping his eyes out would really get in the way of all of that. Maybe that was why Bones gave him a medication to calm him down in the first place.

One hand still wrapped around himself, Jim looked down. He was surprised to see the device still on his lap but more surprised that he hadn't noticed it was there at all. Jim picked it up, contemplating sending Spock a quick message before he ate. More than likely when he did speak to Spock face to face, at least through the video feed, Spock would be able to see right through him.

And that bothered him a little.

The fact was that he was scared. Bones was far away...but he wasn't. Bones was starting to act like his friend from before...but, again, he wasn't. Things had changed. Jim wasn't well and he simply didn't have it in him to put up a facade or to act like everything was fine. Spock wouldn't have to look far to see something was different.

Jim wasn't sure he could manage all that was being thrown at him to be honest, even with the med. But...this was his best friend. It was a good thing that Jim had no qualms having two best friends, because he counted Spock as one, too. And Spock was beginning to read him very, very well.

Jim would have to manage under Spock's scrutiny, for Bones' sake. There was even the off-chance that Spock would ask him what else was wrong after Jim listed all the things he'd lost and no longer had control of.

Who was he kidding. There was no off-chance. It may even be the first thing out of Spock’s mouth.

What would Jim say then? Would he admit to Spock that he'd kissed Bones?

Would he say, _Hey, Spock. I kissed Bones?_

Or, _Bones and I kissed and now I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do? Care to give a suggestion?_

Like Jim would ever do that. _Ever_.

He could just see Spock's brows raising to his hairline if he knew or was even asked for relationship advice.

Jim gave a dry chuckle, quickly shortened by the feeling of needles pinching his side. He didn't dare breathe as shifted in the seat, trying to find a position with only a twinge of pain, finally leaning his head back against the chair in surrender. He found a vague spot on the ceiling to stare at as he drew shallow, controlled breaths bringing the least discomfort.

He definitely had a session with the bone knitter in the future. He hated that thing, certain that Bones had stashed it somewhere in his bedroom.

"Here ya go," Bones said, appearing out of nowhere to place a tray with food right under Jim’s nose. He also placed a heat pack behind his back, and rested his hand on Jim's shoulder when he was done.

Jim looked up at Bones, opening his mouth to say _thank you_ when the tenderness in Bones' expression made him stop.

That wasn't the way Bones usually looked at him, was it?

Jim swallowed.

No. No, it wasn't. He'd remember something like this.

Bones held Jim's gaze. Jim's heart drummed in the silence, already losing himself as he stared at Bones, the pressure and warmth of the doctor's hand making his stomach flip.

"I made yours all by myself, Uncle Jim!" Jojo sang happily.

Jim blinked, confused but unwilling to tear his gaze from Bones.

The hazel eyes crinkled. "The pancakes, Jim," Bones leaned down, whispering.

Breath catching, Jim dragged attention away from Bones and pulled up the a blank note on his device, quickly writing _Thank you._ Jojo beamed when she read it. Jim had moved too quickly, regretting it now as he shifted in his seat. He could feel the doctor's eyes upon him, calculating and sharp.

"Jim?" Bones asked.

Jim swallowed again, glancing as casually as he could back at Bones.

"You alright?" Bones asked, concerned eyes sweeping over him just like he expected. "I thought you might have been in pain earlier."

 _I_... Jim paused in writing, not wanting to forgo a plate of hot food. Determined to eat his food without spilling it, Jim straightened.

God, it _hurt_. But he set his jaw, ignoring the flash of acute pain in his side.

 _I'm just hungry,_ he typed.

Bones cocked an eye at him.

So he'd lied so that he could eat. That really wasn't a new thing for Jim. Bones should know that.

"Alright, but I do need to run a vitals check when you're done," Bones said slowly.

Jim blinked in surprise. He wouldn't pull out his tricorder now? When Jim clearly was hiding the truth?

Bones gave him a small smile and squeezed Jim's shoulder. "I'll be back with the rest of our food."

Slightly dumbfounded Bones hadn't called him on his bull, Jim watched as Bones retreated to the kitchen.

That was it? That was all he was going to say about it? Jim almost didn't know what to do with himself. Why hadn't Bones put up a fight or argued with Jim?

"Uncle Jim?"

Jim shook himself to attention. He picked up the device, writing quickly. _Yeah, kiddo?_

Jojo read the words as she knelt beside Jim. She crossed her arms on the chair, resting her chin on her hands like she was going to stay awhile and peered at him with sharp eyes.

"Were you crying?" She had to ask that, of course. Jojo could always see right through you, so there was nothing to do but tell the truth. Granted, his eyes were probably swollen and red, too, so it wasn't a secret.

He nodded.

She frowned. "Why? Are you sad?"

He nodded again, carefully cutting a piece of the pancake with his fork. He'd eat this pancake if it was the last thing he'd ever do. After the pancake came his call to Spock.

"Is it because of Mister Pike?" she whispered.

The world tilted before he could even lift the fork to his mouth. He couldn't breathe, all the contentedness he'd just felt being sucked right from his heart.

"Uncle Jim? He was like your...your dad?" she asked, voice sweet but conjuring all the bittersweet memories of a man Jim wanted to see walk through Mrs. McCoy's front door for a visit. Was that asking too much? "He was like your dad, wasn't he, Uncle Jim?"

Tears welled up in his eyes.

Dammit, what was wrong with him? He set the fork down, willing himself to hold it together. His breath came out in short, successively painful puffs. It wasn't Jojo's fault, but she was sometimes too smart for her own good.

It took all of his willpower to keep from giving into the emotion as he typed.

_Admioral Piklwe…_

But all his willpower wasn't enough to keep his tremors from reappearing. He gritted his teeth, backspaced, and tried again, giving up when it was too tedious to try for perfection.

_Admirial oPike hbelieved in lme, just like your dad breelieves in yuou, Jojo._

Jojo read with a thoughtful look on her face. "He missed my play," she said, matter of factly. "And I haven't talked to him much lately."

Because of him.

He typed, tremors ruining most every word. _I'mm sorry, Jojoi. I know he woulde havee wanted to vbe at tyour playt. hHe lovces you-_

"It's okay. He loves you, too.”

Jim's heart pounded wildly in his chest, but Jojo went on like it had been the most normal thing to say in the world.

“Uncle Jim, why are your hands shaking? They weren't just a minute ago.”

Jim briefly closed his eyes, forcing himself not to hide his hands from sight in defeat. He swallowed and added, _becauser I was huirt, Jonjo._

"I think that's why he can't come. You were hurt and he loves you," she stated. "Mommy said that to her boyfriend. She thinks I don't know things, but I do, Uncle Jim. I know that you need my daddy.”

Jim couldn't deny it. Without Bones, Jim couldn't _breathe_. But if Jocelyn was thinking that...that _Bones loved Jim_...and Jim couldn't even comprehend that being true… shit, if she was telling her damn _boyfriend_...

Wait. Did Bones even _know_ she had a boyfriend? Jocelyn having a boyfriend threw something new into the fire. That meant this battle for Jojo was an entirely different ballgame than they'd thought.

“And I don't mind, ‘cuz you need Daddy to get better.” Jojo's face fell. “I don't like it when you're sick, Uncle Jim.”

He didn't like it, either. He required a lot of care. He was useless....Jim stopped, remembering the device in his hands. Almost useless.

"Don't you like it?" Jojo bit her lip, gazing at him expectantly.

He stared at her blankly.

"Your food?" She looked sad at the thought.

Jim quickly caught up. He was ambidextrous, though he hid this skill. But since his fine motor skills were lousy, he didn't trust his left hand. He also used to be able to multi-task a hell of a lot better. For now, it was either eat or communicate.

He typed with extreme care and deliberation, trying to hit the keys as properly as he could. _I love it. All I need is anotherrr hand so I can eat and talk to you at the same time, Jojo. Then I'dd hagve 3 hands. I'd be your 3-handed unccle. Think of all the extraqs chores I could dfro to help you asnd thge awesome treess we cohldf climb. Thwen yiuo could take nme 2 schoool 4 shjow ad tell. Woould you like thaty???_

She giggled. "Yes."

Jim made a face at her.

 _You woukld_ , he typed.

"What were you two plottin' while I was gone?" Bones grouched from behind Jojo.

Jojo brightened immediately when Bones brought out another tray, one loaded with two plates and another dish. "Daddy, you remembered Nana's fruit!"

Jim honed in on the fruit she just mentioned. Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd ever had something so bright and sweet to eat. He really hadn't branched out that much as far as food, not even since he'd left the hospital.

"Jim, do you want to try some fruit, too?" Bones asked, hesitating.

Jim swiped his hand across the PADD to clear his other conversation, tremors magnified with Bones nearby.

_I think I crackled a rib when I cried njmy eyes out, vBones._

Jim watched Bones, facing the music. He might as well come clean.

“Crackled?” Bones asked, brow arched.

Jim rolled his eyes.

Bones sighed. "Jim...yes," Bones finally said. "I had a feeling you did. We'll work on that as soon as you eat something. I know you're hungry and enduring the bone knitter on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster. And I don't want to pump your body with yet another a sedative so soon after the drug therapy.”

Jim thought a moment. That explained some things, at least.

_So thatg's why you sdidn't say anyythingv earliefr?_

Bones glanced at Jojo. "Jojo, why don't you give Jim some fruit to eat with that pancake and the extra glass of orange juice."

"Okay," she said, face brightening with the responsibility.

She went to work, Jim frowning as Bones took his device away and chose to type a reply rather than speak it.

Jim's frown deepened when Bones glanced sideways at him before he was done.

Was something else wrong? Had _Jim_ done something wrong? He imagined that he had, not telling Bones immediately that he was in pain. It was stupid not to, really.

Jim couldn't stand the suspense of what was coming to him and what he maybe even deserved. He took a bite of food to get his mind off of it. He was shocked when it didn't make him want to gag. He reached for the juice to wash it down, hating how his hand shook, sloshing what liquid was actually in the glass.

To his relief, nothing spilled over. Someone - probably Bones - had wisely filled it halfway.

Jim swallowed the juice and set down the glass just as Bones finally finished and held up the PADD, angling it for Jim's eyes only.

Jim's lips moved as he read.

_I was an ass for not letting you finish your tea the other day, Jim. I'm sorry. Very sorry. I won't do that again. You deserve to be able to eat in peace. Eat your food, enjoy it if you can, and then I will be your doctor. You're sitting down and not moving much, so you're not going to make things worse before I get my hands on the injury. We can wait a few minutes._

Jim was honestly a little stunned that Bones had apologized. That seemed like a big step for them right now. It was a big step, but there was a lot more than that in their way. He wrote his reply and cocked his head at Bones, who read it aloud.

“It's killing you to wait, isn't it?” Bones read evenly.

Bones paused, looking up at Jim. From the looks of things, he was possibly chewing on the inside of his mouth.

Maybe even thinking about something else that kept getting pushed aside.

Jim knew _he_ was.

“Yes,” Bones said, clearly pained.

Jim had to admit that it was a bit uncomfortable just sitting here with at least one possible fracture to his ribcage.

That aside, he wanted to shove a whole plateful of pancakes into his mouth. He was that damn hungry.

He picked up his fork.

Bones did, too.


	6. I'll get over my own hell (to save you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This will be somewhat of a babbling author's note. Yesterday was a holiday, and today I'm recuperating. I didn't sleep well, so I'm operating on a few hours of sleep on top of that. But, in the spirit of thankfulness, I want to express my gratitude to those of you who are reading and reviewing. I began this story, not sure of the response it would receive, only certain of the passion and artistic expression I was putting into it. This story is something that is maybe a little more personal than any other story I've written, so I am truly grateful for each and every comment and kudos. They mean so much to me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a tough one to get through, especially a few things in the beginning, numerous details I needed to get across but for the life of me, just couldn't get beyond. [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF) really went the extra mile on this one and guided me through a few rough patches. I really appreciate her patience and generosity. :-)
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! I am not sure when the next update will be, so I appreciate your patience. I can promise I'm doing my best. :-)

"Len, can't you set that aside for a little bit longer?" Nora called from the couch.

Jim glanced up from his own breakfast, her gentle reprimand the kind that would make almost anyone listen.

"Maybe until James is done with his breakfast?" she added, sending Jim a smile.

He glanced around the room, shocked to find that everyone else had finished eating. He'd be the first to admit that he always ate slowly these days, finding food either distasteful or disinteresting. But that meant they had been waiting on him. His shock intensified when he realized that they’d all stopped talking at some point.

Confused and mad at himself for not noticing earlier, he attempted to rationalize their silence to himself. The best thing he could come up with was this—they were too nice to him, afraid to hurt his feelings.

They were too nice to rush him, too nice to keep talking around him when he couldn't even communicate while he ate, and too nice to nudge him along when he’d ultimately fallen into some sort of daze, a world of his own. Jim hated that most of the time, when people were ‘too nice’ to him, it was because they pitied him. He didn’t want pity. Didn’t need it.

Jim knew he should hurry. Bones had to be strangling him in his mind by now, impatient to get his hands on Jim's injury and fix it. But when Jim considered chewing and swallowing at a faster pace, his stomach rolled. He kept his eyes off his breakfast, the thought of which now made him nauseous. He couldn't let himself become that much of a nuisance to Bones or to Nora. He had to find something else to keep his attention.

That something else was a seven years old with her nose in a book. Jojo must have sensed Jim's eyes on her, because she spared a glance at him over the top of her page. She made such a cute picture that he winked at her, surprising even himself. He just didn't do things like that anymore, hardly having enough energy to take a damn bath. Plus, winking at anyone required the ‘Happy Gene’ and he was all out of those these days.

Her eyes crinkled with laughter, reminding Jim of Bones when the doctor had next to nothing to worry about. Except, Bones sometimes smiled, but he didn’t laugh much anymore. Apparently, he was all out of the Happy Gene, too. Jim had sucked it right out of him.

Wanting to distance himself from the dark turn his thoughts had taken, he looked across the room at the couch. Nora was sitting there, knitting, a quiet hobby she'd always enjoyed. Though she worked fast, Jim had no doubt she was also taking advantage of the time to observe her family, missing nothing. He felt a pang in his chest. His mother had never been like that. Winona never sat in the living room with Jim long enough to even leave an _imprint_ in the cushion. While Nora missed nothing, Winona had missed everything.

Head down and studious, Bones poured over his device. He paid no attention to his mother, or to Jim, for that matter—and he was sitting right next to him.

Not that Jim was complaining. Bones' chair had no arm rests, and Jim's had only one, since the other had been removed to provide him ease of movement. The result? A very curious seating arrangement. Bones sat so close to him that his body warmth provided Jim with as much heat as a light blanket, his presence a comfort, the brush of shoulders and forearms accidental.

Or was it.

Revisiting this again, Jim reconsidered how deliberate the seating arrangement had been. Since Bones' apology—or, rather Jim's ugly man cry—a little of the tension had eased between them. Obviously, they couldn't speak of what had transpired in the bathroom in front of Nora and Jojo.

Jim couldn't help but think that Bones was actually leaving him little clues, like crumbs along the trail in Hansel and Gretel, or giving him some sign to latch onto, like Rapunzel’s hair, like in a fairytale, like…

Jim stopped himself right there.

Like a fairytale? Where had that thought even come from? He understood Bones' concern for his mental and emotional health, but maybe Jim should refuse the next dosage of whatever anti-anxiety drug he’d given him, especially if it gave him weird thoughts about fairytales.

He had the right to do that, didn't he? Refuse treatment?

"Hmm? I need to get through your notes from this morning, mama, as well as Jim's most recent blood test," Bones muttered, head still bent.

Jim's hand went limp against his plate. He wondered just how thorough Nora had been with her notes this morning.

He twirled his fork in his hand, uneasiness spreading throughout his body. Nora was an exceptional nurse, observational skills just as exceptional. More than likely, she'd written down everything.

"Hmph," Nora said, setting her knitting on her lap. After giving Jim and Jojo a look, she leaned in towards Bones and spoke in an urgent whisper. "Leonard, James looks like he's going to fall over any minute. A small gust of wind could knock him right over, the poor boy. I'm not sure he can take much more.”

Jim quirked a brow in surprise, forgetting his own anxiety when Nora’s flair for the dramatics emerged.

Bones' head snapped up, eyes widening in concern. "What? He does? He looks like what?" he asked, looking from Nora to Jim. Without waiting for an answer, Bones' eyes perused him from head to toe, suddenly frowning. "You look a little peaked, Jim. Why didn't anyone tell me put my notes away?”

Jim rolled his eyes, this type of selective hearing from Bones hardly new to him.

"And if this is the case - " Bones began.

Nora sighed loudly.

" - we should get moving..." Bones continued, his voice fading at the end, Jojo beginning an infectious giggle.

When Bones looked at them in bewilderment, Jim couldn't help but snort.

“Uncle Jim…” Jojo giggled harder. It was then that Jim finally gave in to a wide grin, if not for his best girl.

Bones gave Jim a second look. "Did I miss something?" Bones asked slowly, eyes always trained on Jim.

Jim suppressed an all out laugh, since for one, it would hurt, and two, it would sound like a sick, hacking and voiceless Gorn, not that he had any experience with those. But it was damn lucky for him that he couldn't say a word, anyway.

He'd probably blurt out things he had no business saying to Bones if he could. As he remembered Bones' mouth covering his, Jim could think of at least one thing he'd like to say.

His face warmed, gaze losing focus.

"Jim, you look a little worse for wear. Are ya sure I didn't miss something?" Bones asked, frowning. Moving closer to Jim, his leg pressed against Jim’s leg, ultimately forcing their knees and thighs to touch.

Suddenly, any part of his brain that wasn't already focused on Bones, honed in on the man. The touch sent a thrill straight up Jim's body, starting in his legs, shooting up to his core and causing a flutter there, until it finally reached his brain and weakened any other thought he might’ve had.

Fuck, did Bones have any idea what he was actually doing to Jim?

Jim had never wanted Bones to touch him this much before. In fact, he hadn't really wanted any romantic touch in a long, long time. But Jim wanted Bones. He wanted _that kiss._ Bones' arms around him the next time he _did_ kiss Jim.

It was like he was touch starved, honestly. Jim needed it like someone needed air, and only Bones could satisfy that need. Oddly enough though, Jim couldn’t get his body to react how he wanted. Maybe…maybe he couldn’t.

Something was off, his damned body not working correctly. Bones was close to him a way that he'd never been before, but Jim didn’t feel the same stirring he knew he should feel in his groin. As demoralizing as it was to discover that he wasn't aroused like he thought he should be, Jim wasn't stupid. Obviously, his body wasn't functioning normally and it wasn't just because of the irradiation. He'd taken a huge hit from the drug therapy, too.

If Jim wasn't fucked before, he was royally fucked now.

He wanted nothing more than to rest his head on Bones' shoulder, reaching out for the comfort he knew was there and a respite from his shame. He fought the urge, especially when Bones raised his hand, holding a tricorder.

Jim's bubble completely burst.

Bones had probably kept that damn device close and within reach this entire time. Jim hastily backtracked his thoughts, reining in his imagination. What had he been thinking? Fairytales? Kissing Bones? Delusions?

No, he couldn't do this to himself anymore. He couldn't possibly think about bringing up anything about being more than friends with Bones. He'd done enough already to humiliate himself. Jim felt his cheeks reddening. He wondered if he was blushing. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. That would be the worst thing in the world, to blush at a time like this, when he couldn’t be more humiliated.

"No, you didn't miss a thing, Leonard," Nora chuckled, answering for Jim. "But, maybe we did. You're very dedicated and concerned about our James. Carry on as you always do, my dear boy."

Both of Bones' brows raised before he shrugged in resignation. "If you're sure, mama."

"I'm sure," she said quietly. "We admire you for your diligence, Leonard. It's to be commended."

Bones cleared his throat, flushing at the compliment. "I'm doin' what I should do, that's all."

Bones set the tricorder down before looking at Jim, this time his expression all doctor. Jim had already steeled himself for this change but it didn't stop the disappointment he felt.

"You have three fractured ribs, Jim," Bones said. "The healing process will take some time."

Jim had just enough self-control and self-worth left not to glare at the small inanimate object at Bones’ side.

Bones took a breath. "I can give you a mild pain reliever while we use the regen units but I think that the main thing you'll be dealing with is your fatigue, and simply staying awake."

Jim blinked at him. Bones couldn't possibly be serious. Jim had to talk to Spock as soon as possible, which meant as soon as his ribs were healed.

Bones furrowed his brow. "I'll do whatever it takes to get this done as fast as possible, Jim. I know talking with Spock is important to ya, but if you fall asleep..."

"But, Daddy," Jojo whined. "You promised that Uncle Jim wouldn't fall asleep..."

Bones paused, smiling kindly at his daughter. "I did promise you, Jojo, and more than likely, he won't until sometime after I fix his ribs. It would be a nice way to help Uncle Jim rest, Jojo, even if he does fall asleep. You can always finish reading to him when he wakes up, alright?"

"But why can't I stay?" Jojo interjected worriedly, chewing on her bottom lip.

Bones glanced at Jim as if he wanted his permission to explain. Jim nodded.

"It will be painful for Jim," Bones said carefully.

"Oh," Jojo said, voice small.

"And he has to lie still for a while," Bones continued, not looking at Jim but putting his hand on Jim's knee, lightly squeezing it.

The gesture was affectionate, beyond friendship. It had to be.

Bones' hand warm and steady, Jim could hardly breathe.

"It won't be comfortable for Jim," Bones said quietly. "And because of that, Jojo, I can't allow you to stay."

"But I want to stay," she said, chin lifting.

"No, Jojo," Bones said, shaking his head.

"I want to help Uncle Jim. Like you do, Daddy," she insisted, voice morphing into a whine.

As sweet as that was, Jim whole-heartedly agreed with Bones. It wasn't that he thought Jojo couldn't handle it. He actually thought she could, but what if it bothered her even a little bit? What is she couldn't go to sleep, thinking of it?

What if she had _nightmares_ , for God's sakes? What if Jocelyn added that to her agenda against Bones? Jim didn't want any of that hanging over his head.

"Jojo, I'm proud of you for wanting to help, but I don't think your mother would approve," Bones said gently. "Your grandmother will take you upstairs to play a game, but I will make sure that she brings you down when I'm done. Jim? Is this alright with you?"

Relieved that Bones had wisely handled the situation, Jim gave Jojo a small smile. He was the luckiest damned uncle in the universe to have her as his niece. Bones' plan was perfect.

"Good," Bones said, looking relieved. He released Jim's knee and rubbed his face, hand holding his chin while he looked down at his device. After a few seconds, he resumed typing. "Jim, I also think your body is sending you a message. You'll need to listen to it and rest when it tells you to."

And with that, Jim changed his mind. Bones’ plan wasn't perfect. It was flawed, all flawed.

He glanced down at the half-eaten pancake on his plate, desperately hoping it would ease the frustration he was feeling. Because, dammit, he'd actually eaten _more_ than one pancake. That was a victory, wasn't it?

Instead, it stared back at him in silent accusation. Bones began to talk, but his voice simply faded into the background.

A minute ago, Jim had been eating, actually eating, and savoring the taste instead of gagging. He'd felt good about himself, a feeling that he hadn't truly experienced for weeks now except for in therapy, after grueling hours of hard work. He'd felt Bones' affection again, he was sure of it.

But now...all of that stopped, his self worth unraveling.

Six or seven bites were left at most, but just one would push him over the edge. It wasn't that he was even full. He simply couldn't finish and, disheartened, his impending wastefulness washed coldly over him, drawing the nausea clear up into his throat. He couldn't stop the feeling, couldn't prevent any of it because, as it was with everything else, he had no control.

Feeling worse about food than he’d had in years, Jim pressed a fist to his mouth, fighting to keep down what he had just eaten, never realizing that Bones had fallen silent, watching him.

He shivered as he contemplated the waste he'd made, his breaths excruciating as they stirred in his chest. He hated wasting food, so he ate everything he put on his plate. Always. Since Tarsus, he'd never been able to handle anyone else throwing away an uneaten meal, either, at times his behavior putting him in awkward situations.

It had meant life or death for Jim over a decade ago, and one couldn't just erase that sort of thing from memory. Things still hadn't changed that much for him, as bizarre as that sounded even to him. He'd been poor in health then, too, just as he was now.

Jim took another ragged breath, this one deliberate, fuller, aching the entire way. It jarred his ribs, the pain spreading everywhere, deep into his marrow and heart. This time, he welcomed it.

Pain made him move, made him act. Always.

Gritting his teeth, he squinted down at his plate. He stabbed a piece of his food with his fork in aggressive stubbornness. Where was his backbone? Gone? Just like everything else?

Jim chewed on his lip, still not bringing the fork to his mouth. The food probably wouldn't even stay in his stomach, but he needed something else to think about, to drive away his ghosts.

He couldn't stand or even deal with his own wastefulness right now, not with everything else stacked against him. Why he had even asked for a second pancake was beyond him. Sure he'd been hungry. Or so he'd thought, anyway, but he’d known at the back of his mind that he wouldn't be able to handle it.

As guilty as wasting food made him feel, something else made him feel even worse. Jim honestly wasn't sure that this—eating—had been worth seeing Jojo's face light up or Bones' relief that he wasn't headed for starvation.

He hated himself even more for letting them both down.

"Jim, you did good," Bones said. "You ate more than I expected."

Jim stared bitterly at the food, lip curling into a subtle snarl he didn't bother hiding. Bones' medication was doing this to him. Bones' medication was doing a lot of things to him. Bones' medication, the damn drug therapy, was brutal. There wasn't any other word that could describe it. It _was_ brutal, making him dependent upon everyone. It was—

He caught himself, snapping back his snarl like he'd reached a cliff's edge or touched something hot with his hand. Dammit, what was he doing? As terrible as it sounded even to him, he'd been laying the blame directly at Bones' feet for the nausea—and more.

Guilt pricked at him. Bones' drug therapy was keeping him alive. Maybe even stopping him from regressing. Bones had hinted as much right before the first round of injections.

Jim closed his eyes, sickness swelling in his stomach not related to the food. What was wrong with him? Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes ago, he'd read Bones' apology. Bones had been giving him these...these damn signals, these signs that he wanted more with Jim. He should be happy, right?

It wasn't Bones fault that Jim felt so ill, but it was Jim's own fault that he’d promised something he couldn't handle in the first place.

"Jim..."

Jim swallowed bitterly, acknowledging Bones like he should. From the corner of his eye, he caught Jojo biting her lip, peering at him through her lashes, nervous.

"Jim, it's okay," Bones reaffirmed, voice soothing Jim like he would a child. "We'll put the food away and get started."

Maybe some other day that would've bothered Jim. But today it was comforting, if only a little bit.

With Bones so close to him, it was nothing for the doctor to reach over in an effort to grab his tray. Jim still gripped his fork, unwilling to let go of the idea of finishing absolutely everything.

"Hey," Bones murmured in his ear, the warm breath sending a shiver down Jim's spine.

Heart pumping wildly, Jim gripped his fork, knuckles whitening, his own strength surprising him.

"Don't force yourself to eat, Jimbo. Not for me or anyone else," Bones whispered, "We want you to be able to keep this down. Right, Jojo?" he added in a louder voice.

Jojo's head bobbed up and down as she smiled sweetly at Jim, expression almost mimicking that of her father's. A lump formed in Jim's throat when Bones' mom put down her knitting and watched him with concern.

All eyes were fixed upon him, waiting, the room heavy with expectation, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He wasn't even sure what he _could_ do.

But then Bones moved, not waiting for Jim after all, and placed the device on Jim's tray. Confused, Jim looked up at him.

"Before I do anything else, I want to know exactly what's on your mind, Jim," Bones said firmly. "In particular, why you're so determined to make yourself sick when you don't have to."

That was a tall order, one Jim didn't think he could manage, at least not tactfully. And definitely not in front of Nora or Jojo.

"I won't know how to help you if you don't talk to me, Jim. I think..." Bones gave a strangled sigh, frustration falling from him in waves. "I don't want us to keep miscommunicating with each other like we have been doing, Jimbo. Especially when it comes to your health and comfort."

Jim glanced down at the darkened screen. Bones may be right, but he had no idea how he was supposed to tell Bones that the wasted food and this—being so damn sick—was something he connected with his time on Tarsus, an instinctual behavior he knew was stupid and useless, but nevertheless, couldn’t get rid of. They'd already discussed that event before, what seemed like ages ago, so it wouldn't be a total shock. And maybe it had always been like this for Jim since the warp core, even before his system had been able to handle solids. It just hadn't hit him until now. His therapist had never picked up on it because it simply wasn't in his file, and Pike...

Pike wasn't here to call him on shit like this. He wasn't here to insist that Jim's records be fully revealed to the counselor. And maybe...maybe Bones hadn't thought of it. Jim could hardly fault him, Bones having more than just Jim to worry about, after all. He had a kid, a family. It was way more than Jim had.

Tears springing to his eyes, he quickly wiped at them. Dammit, why couldn't he just stop with the waterworks, already? It’d gotten past the point of embarrassment.

"Jim," Bones whispered, turning his body so that Jojo couldn't see Jim. "Do you need a moment?"

He shook his head, sniffling once, regretting that it wasn’t as quiet as he’d thought it’d be.

"Are ya sure?" Bones asked, peering at him in concern.

He nodded sharply, slightly annoyed at being asked twice over every little thing he decided to do.

"Okay," Bones said, shoulders dropping, noting Jim’s shortness. "I want to help you, but I can't do it on my own."

Jim wanted to ignore the soft cloth Bones handed him to wipe his eyes with, but he didn't. He swallowed his pride and used the damn thing, feeling a little guilty for his earlier show of annoyance.

"When I do things on my own, look where that gets us. An abandoned glass of tea," Bones said. "I can do better than that for you, Jim, but only if I know what you're thinkin'."

Bones may have been trying to make light of the sensitive issue between them, which made sense because he'd apologized, but Jim still reacted.

Fork clattering to the plate, he typed a reply before he could think twice about it.

_It spilled, anyway, or don't you remember._

Bones' eyes flickered darkly while reading Jim's argumentative reply.

"Jim, I know it did, but it wasn't your fault," Bones said, mouth thinning. "And those tremors will get better, Jim, I promise."

Jim rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. It always came back to those, didn't it?

He moved his hand along the PADD before he lost his nerve.

_Why was I the one who was allowed to come back? Why not Pike, Bones?_

_Why me?_

_Why couldn't you just let me just die, Bones? Why?_

But he didn't write that.

Instead, he was as honest as he could be at this time. As honest as he would allow himself to be.

_I don't want to waste it. I hate wasting food._

Jim tried not to think why Bones' expression instantly softened and filled with an understanding that only he could have. Nor did he thoroughly consider that Bones had connected Jim's low health to his thoughts about food, all without Jim having to reply to a single thing, or that Bones may be mentally kicking himself because he hadn't recognized it sooner, and thus, saved Jim more hurt.

"I'll wrap it up and put it in the fridge," Bones asserted. "When you want to eat again, we'll reheat it Jim. Nothing will be wasted."

Jim stared blankly at him for a moment, the idea a damn ingenious one.

He typed, _Why didn't I think of that?_

"I think the medication is working," Bones said, regarding Jim with compassion. "I know you're upset about some things, Jim, and rightly so, but without the medication it would be even worse."

Though he didn't like it at all, he nodded in agreement, not wanting to look like a total idiot.

"Here, allow me," Nora offered up, coming over to them and whisking the tray with his plate away. "I'll take care of it, Leonard, so you can tend to Jim. Jojo, come with me. We'll grab some sweet iced tea and head upstairs."

"Thanks, mama," Bones said, smiling at them both as they left the room.

Although it made no sense, Jim felt somewhat exposed without the tray and quickly crossed his arms. The sharp movement cause him to hunch, drawing in on himself.

A hand was on his arm almost instantly, anchoring him.

"Jim, ya alright?" Bones' voice broke through, laden with concern.

He ghosted his own hand over the spot on his side that bothered him the most.

Bones frowned, letting go. "We shouldn't wait any longer.”

Jim froze. If he had to go back to the hospital...

The thought stopped there. He couldn't even think about that without wanting to cry again, adrenaline surging forward because of it, trying to prepare him.

Bones held the device within Jim’s reach. “I know it'll be tough, that you're already uncomfortable, but ride it out for me, okay?”

Bones held the device steady as Jim typed his concern in one simple word.

 _Hospital_.

Jim had never known waiting for an answer could be so excruciating. Bones seemed to take an absurd five seconds to read one word before replying to his question.

"Given that your problem is what it is, Jim, no. No hospital," Bones finally said, sweet relief pouring through Jim’s veins despite his general discomfort. "I have everything we need, and Jojo is going to read to you after it's done. Remember?”

Jim scowled, kicking himself for forgetting that already.

“I came as prepared as I possibly could and the hospital did drop off an extra order early this morning,” Bones paused, hesitating, “an order that I requested.”

 _What?_ Jim mouthed.

"What was troubling you just now, when we took away your tray?" Bones asked, sounding like a shrink.

And just like that, Jim was annoyed again.

He had to wonder when, exactly, he became obligated to tell Bones everything he was feeling just because he didn't have his fucking voice.

When Bones' brows shot to his hairline Jim realized his resentment must have shown on his face.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Bones hastily added. "I shouldn't overstep but...I want to help if I can."

Jim rolled his eyes and waved his hand towards the PADD. Bones gave him a tight smile, but held it for him while he typed.

_I felt naked. Like you unclothed me and left me for the world to see._

This time, Bones rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Jim, could you be more dramatic?"

When Bones swore, Jim looked around the room for Jojo, forgetting that she wasn't there. Shaking his head at himself, he resumed typing.

_No problem. Would you like me to man cry again or something else—_

"Give me that," Bones scowled, yanking the device away from his fingertips. "No, I don't want you to man cry again, you moron, unless…” Bones suddenly looked nervous, “unless that’s something you want to do, I mean, then that’s okay, Jim. You can cry, I won’t judge or get mad, but no I don’t think you _have_ to—” he broke off, sighing in exasperation, Jim not even remembering the last time Bones looked this jittery. “Just,” he inhaled through his nostrils, “hang on for a minute. I need to get a few things, but I'll be right back."

Smirking at Bones’ sputtering, Jim couldn't help but lean his head back against the chair, slightly more relaxed than before. His eyes slid shut. He made no effort to open them. He was damn tired, his body sinking so deeply into the chair that he thought nothing when his head rolled to the side, hands going limp in his lap. He may have even dozed off for awhile, because the next thing Jim knew, a hand brushed through his hair.

"Hey," Bones urged softly. "Stay with me, okay? You get to stay put and relax while I get things ready, but I don't want you completely disoriented when we start. You do want to talk with Spock, right?"

Jim peeled his eyes open, seeing two Bones' instead of one.

Great, just what he needed. _Two_ handsome men named Leonard H. McCoy to confuse the hell out of him.

Squinting, Jim rubbed his eyes until his vision cleared and he realized Bones was watching him with that same caution and pity. It was a look he had seen on his face countless times over the past twenty-four hours, one he absolutely hated. Just like that, all of Jim’s former mirth and relaxation was gone, and all because of _one_ look.

"If you need anything, and I'm turned around or just not paying attention, press this," Bones said, grasping Jim's right forearm and wrist before putting a small, circular device in the palm of Jim's hand.

Jim wrapped his fingers around it, feeling the ridges of a button, grateful Bones had thought of this small thing to set him at ease. He didn't think he'd need anything but he nodded, warily watching while Bones reclined Jim's chair at forty-five degrees and set up a computer and the regen units near him.

He forced himself to pay attention to every little thing Bones was doing. If he didn't stay awake, how was he going to do anything as simple as talking to Spock? Bones wasn't going to play dirty when it came to Jocelyn. Even if Bones was thinking about it, he wouldn't play that way. Jim could see it on his face, hear it in his voice without even asking him about Jocelyn, and Jim knew why.

Jojo was hurting enough.

Bones didn't want her witnessing an ongoing fight between her parents. In Bones' mind, that would be worse than anything else. Jim didn't want Jojo to hurt more, either, and he had plans. He would do all that he could to stop Jocelyn, going as far as involving the last person Bones would ever expect to fight his battles for him.

"I'll need to take your shirt off for this, Jim," Bones said. "Good news is that this chair is heated, and it's warming up already."

Jim lifted a brow in surprise.

"You know Eleanora McCoy. She likes being prepared," Bones shrugged.

Jim vaguely nodded, recalling two closets in the house filled to the brim with extra blankets, water, pillows, boots, a hammer and nails, a set of knives, medical supplies, and who knew what else.

Bones starting to tug at Jim's shirt, pulling it upwards. "Well, my mama purchased this a year ago, saying she was getting up in age and wanted a decent chair that could help her in case she became an invalid. I wouldn't mind having one or two of these in medbay."

Jim couldn't imagine Nora ever being off her feet but he did appreciate her preparedness. And he'd approve an order of a hundred of these chairs in a heartbeat if Bones liked them so much.

Bones halted his movements, narrowing his eyes when Jim lifted his arm a few inches, wincing. Bones just shook his head. "I think I'll just cut the damn shirt instead of putting you through undue pain, Jim." He gently guided Jim's arm back down. "You're not attached to this shirt, are ya?"

Jim shook his head.

"Good," Bones said, turning around. He turned back around in seconds, holding a simple, utilitarian pair of scissors, face serious, cocking an eye at Jim. "Hold still, this could be dangerous."

Jim rolled his eyes a little.

"You know, for not being able to talk right now, you're a real smart ass," Bones muttered, sounding irritated. But as Bones cut the shirt and tugged the fabric from Jim's body, he could've sworn it was the gentlest the doctor had ever touched him.

Next to placing his hands on Jim's chin, even next to kissing him, which hadn't been very gentle, now that Jim thought about it.

Another lump formed, the space electrifying between them. He swallowed nervously.

Bones saw, stilling his movements. "Jim, can I continue?"

Jim nodded, swallowing again, his nervousness only disappearing when Bones pulled his hands back and discarded the pieces which were once his shirt.

But then Bones returned with the regen units, all business, reminding Jim that he was still helpless and vulnerable.

"Feeling warm yet?" Bones asked, holding one, hesitating for Jim to answer.

He nodded, heat already seeping into his back, spreading to his chest.

"Good. Now, you know the drill. Breathe and don't move," Bones frowned, adjusting the chair until Jim was practically flat on his back before setting the unit on Jim's chest. "Keep that button in your hand, so I can know if you're okay or not when I'm not here—"

Jim's finger twitched on the button, causing a shrill of alarm.

He looked wide-eyed at Bones. Was he seriously going to just...leave? Leave Jim here with the fucking pain monsters? Alone?

Bones' lips thinned as he watched the computer and then glanced at Jim. "Jim, I'm not going anywhere," Bones said, one hand reaching for Jim's face.

Jim's eyes fluttered shut as the hand rested on his forehead, the doctor's thumb brushing his skin over and over. The gesture familiar, it took him back when they'd first arrived at Eleanor McCoy's, to the moment on the porch when Bones had wiped Jim's tears away.

Jim's heart settled into a steadier, slower beat.

"I'm going to stay with you as much as possible," Bones said, drawl thickening, thumb literally mesmerizing Jim with its methodical movement. "And if I do have to leave for a minute, maybe to check on Jojo, my mama will be here instead, alright?"

Jim swallowed down another lump, opening his eyes and gratefully looking at Bones for setting him straight again. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He'd done this all before, even without a painkiller. Of course Bones wouldn't just leave.

"Good, and now that your heart is being a little more reasonable, hotshot," Bones said in a dry voice, one that instantly reminded Jim of the Enterprise, a cranky Bones in his sickbay. It gave him an even greater sense of calm. "I'll give you the mild pain reliever and we'll begin."

In a few minutes, the units placed over his chest, his torso strapped to the chair, Jim began to feel the silent, powerful grind of bones knitting.

Fuck, it hurt and he had nothing but the damn button in his hand to press.

Jim clenched his empty hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm until it hurt. His arm barely moved but Bones fixed a fierce scowl on him.

Jim steeled himself for a scolding.

But didn't get one.

"It's pretty painful, huh?" Bones remarked quietly, moving a chair so he could sit beside Jim.

Jim's heart skipped a beat, his best friend's expression open and soft as he settled himself into  
the chair. Bones angled himself, practically leaning over Jim, eyes sweeping over him. The epitome of confidence. Without a voice, without the ability to express himself, Jim simply was not.

"Now where were we?" Bones murmured, maybe to himself, maybe to Jim, maybe not.

Jim really didn't know. The pain was getting worse, and he didn't want to fool himself into thinking the words were meant for him. Or even meant for _them_.

All he knew was that Bones' hand slipped into Jim's empty one.

"Squeeze my hand when it hurts, alright?" Bones suggested in a soft voice.

And when it didn't, Jim wondered why their hands felt so natural curving together like this, as if they'd done it before.

And they _had_ held hands before, Bones comforting him in sickbay numerous times or Jim doing the same for Bones once or twice, but they'd never held hands like _this_ before. To say that he never handled it well when Bones was under the weather or injured was an understatement. Jim's throat closed just thinking of it.

The ensuing bells and whistles were loud enough to wake up the neighbors' dog. Bones arched a brow, alternating his gaze between Jim and the computer screen.

"I think we're in a pickle," Bones said after a pause, the lines of his face deepening.

Jim exhaled a slow and shallow breath, lost in the hazel eyes piercing him like he was the main fare on a menu, not the sickly man he really was, wearing a damn bag to collect his urine.

"Wouldn't you agree?" Bones asked quietly.

Jim knew perfectly well that he was talking about this unspoken attraction between them and the ridiculous way Jim set off the bells and whistles. He agreed they were stuck in a metaphoric sense, but he responded with absolutely nothing. It was better that way. He didn't even spare a single blink, knowing exactly what would happen if he allowed himself to feel anything Bones said to him.

Bones hardly moved, either. "Hmm, interesting," Bones said slowly.

After another long moment, Bones leaned back, his hand still fitted snugly around Jim's. He blew out a rough breath, spare hand rubbing his chin, a pensive look on his face.

"I can't have your heart racing like that again. Not now, Jim," Bones said with a shake of his head. "Your body has been under enough strain already. It doesn't need more, it can't take much more, actually, but we need to talk."

Jim’s eyes widened. Talk? Now? Fuck.

When the alarms sounded for a third time, he wanted to hide.

Bones sent him a pointed look. Face reddening, Jim set his jaw, and in his mind, crawled under the chair. With a blanket.

He was _so_ fucked.

Bones sighed and released his hand, Jim's fingers instantly growing cold. In fact, his entire body felt chilled to its core when Bones stood, putting physical space between them as he walked over to another computer.

Jim squinted his eyes at first, wanting to see what Bones was typing. It was a futile effort, Bones' back barring Jim's line of sight.

Resigned that he'd have to accept whatever it was that was coming, He stared up at the ceiling. What was Bones doing? It wasn't like he could sedate Jim to get through this. Hell, they couldn't even talk to each other. There probably wasn't much that Bones could say to him without Jim's heart rate skyrocketing.

They were at a pathetic standstill.

Jim began to count as the time crept forward, faltering almost as soon as he began when the pain got to him. He groaned, the sound but a whisper throughout the room. He fought the urge to shift his body, even if just an inch. His finger twitched but he drew it away from the button. He wasn't being a good patient, not that he could help it, but he would put his best foot forward to make things easier for Bones. He didn't need Bones to hold his hand through this, did he? He most certainly had nothing worth complaining about.

Jim gritted his teeth, the regen unit beginning a round in a new place, barely noticing the footsteps and the rustle of Bones' clothing beside him.

Bones cleared his throat. The pain fought for his focus, the situation with Bones fighting just as hard for his attention. Wanting someone to blame, Jim looked away from the ceiling and accusingly at his best friend.

This was all Bones' fault. If he hadn't been sending him these damn signals, if he hadn't held his hand—hell, if he hadn't stayed in the bathroom, if he'd just remained his doctor, Jim would be miserable but calm doing this wretched regeneration business.

He'd be miserable and mostly alone, things nearly the same and as uncomplicated as they could be.

All Bones’ fault.

"So, I shut off the alarms for now, but I'll see them on my PADD. Meanwhile, this is what we'll do," Bones asserted evenly, sinking down into the chair, having the nerve to hold Jim's hand again. Without asking.

Damn the man.

He didn't curl his hand into Bones' this time. Holding back wasn't easy, because everything in him wanted this, but he'd had it with his uncontrollable, physical reactions. He looked like a lovestruck teenaged girl instead of a Starfleet captain.

Bones tightened his grip on Jim's hand. Fingers stiff, he still refused to give but the doctor didn't seem to mind. In fact, Bones' expression never even cracked.

"Since you can't talk because the drug therapy affected your vocal chords, and I can't talk," Bones said, pausing, "we can't talk about us because the thought of doing that sends your heart rate through the roof, we'll just...do this...use our hands. Until...tomorrow...or the day after, when things are a little easier for you."

Jim wondered if Bones had lost it. They were holding hands. It was just as bad. Besides, did Bones have any idea what Jim could do with _hands_?

"This, Jim," Bones said quietly.

He laced his fingers through Jim's stiff, unyielding ones.

Jim began to understand.

His chest felt like it was being forged together by a meat grinder, the pain reaching almost every nerve in his body. But there was also a stirring in his heart, amidst the discomfort flooding him from head to toe. A nice kind of stirring, almost like a flutter.

Butterfly wings, as girly as it was.

And then it was gone.

Jim nearly groaned his protest. He wanted to feel the pleasant fluttering again, embrace it for what it was. But he was frozen, unable to bend his hand into Bones'. Bones wanted more with him. He actually wanted more. How much more, Jim didn't know and he _wouldn't_ know for some time. But, they had this, a new closeness.

Something else may be wrong with him to make him want something so simple in a relationship, but if this was all he'd ever get from Bones, he'd take it.

Years of fucking women and some men, reduced to this. A simple handholding session.

But he needed Bones’ hand held like he needed everything else about the man. He simply needed it. Without it, without Bones, his world was irrevocably broken.

Still, Jim was an idiot. They both were both damned fools, actually, because he certainly wasn't going to place all the blame on himself for this mess they'd gotten themselves into. They were idiots who had a shitload of things to work out between them. But the thought of being able to hold hands like this was so astounding that Jim wanted to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't dreaming, make sure it was real.

Pinch himself? Maybe he _was_ a lovestruck, teenaged girl.

"Jim?" Bones asked in a worried, soul crushing whisper.

Jim gave Bones the only smile he could. Worn and weak, he hoped Bones would understand.

His hand relaxed in acceptance of Bones' humble offer.

 

oOo

 

Spock did not regret cancelling his meetings today, but the face staring back at him with a wane and pitiful smile was not the face of the man he had seen three days prior. Indeed, it was an even thinner, paler face he had not been expecting at all. Dark circles under his dulled, sunken eyes, this man was a stranger. Had it not been for the blonde hair in a familiar cut, he may not have recognized Jim, his Captain, his friend.

Surely it had not just been the drug therapy. As Spock had not witnessed the administration of the drugs himself, he found it difficult to believe that the series of injections had caused this abrupt of a change.

_Hey, Spock._

"Captain," Spock said after a three second pause, instantly ashamed of the hesitation. Jim’s appearance should not have such a detrimental effect on him. Except it did, just like his death.

Jim winced.

_I know. I look like shit._

"I apologize for my delayed greeting," Spock said immediately. "It was not my intention to infer your appearance was less than acceptable."

Jim sank back in his chair and rolled his eyes.

_Come on. Just say it. Humor the sick man who was dragged to Georgia by his mother-hen._

"You look...fatigued," he said, deciding on flattery, uncertain how to respond to Jim’s usage of the term, ‘mother-hen.'

_It's shit, Spock. That's the word you want._

"I believe..." He paused, seeing Jim blink his eyes as if he were in a daze. "Would you prefer we speak at another time?"

Jim's eyes suddenly widened, shoulders pulling back, looking to be in great discomfort as he attempted to straighten his posture.

Jim typed, movements awkward, hands wracked with tremors, disappointment washing over Spock upon seeing them.

_bNo.m._

"Jim, you are not well," Spock pressed after he read the short, mistyped reply, worry blooming in his side, images of Jim’s lifeless eyes in the warp core dancing in front of him

As distressing as it was that Jim seemed incapable of handling this conversation, Spock had already received a warning from Doctor McCoy about Jim's health. Not wanting to be the cause of more distress, he fingered the comm on his lap, preparing to send a message of his concern to McCoy. To his knowledge, McCoy was not in the same room as Jim in his desire to give the captain privacy. Spock had his doubts that Jim should be left alone at all.

Jim swallowed, his laryngeal prominence bobbing nervously. He shook his head, opening his mouth in a wordless plea.

_Please, Spock. No._

"Very well," Spock agreed, ignoring his logic in favor of Jim’s wishes.

Jim's eyes closed briefly before he gave Spock another small smile.

_Itm 2will onlyy take a mminutre, beccfausee Ik had aw date wwith thyhe pain jmonsters not 2 llong agoo. Yyuu knnnow how cllingy tgy can bee._

Wanting to hide his sadness that Jim's tremors had indeed been triggered, Spock replied in the same written manner.

_You are referring to the regeneration units. You were injured?_

He found it rather difficult to hide his concern, resist the instinct to react and defend.

Jim bit his lip, clearly hesitating. _Ffrackrud riibs._

Apparently, this had occurred during the time between Doctor McCoy's final message to Spock this morning and this very conversation with Jim.

_Jim, how did you sustain this injury?_

_I criiedc, Sopockk._ Jim paused, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. _P i k e,_ he added slowly.

Spock blinked, now concerned that Jim should even be attending therapy if the force of crying caused this painful injury to occur. He also wished to inquire about Dr. McCoy's thoughts on the matter.

Jim glanced up from the keyboard briefly, and seeing Spock's reaction, arched a brow.

_Yeeah, suucks. I'' guuesw I'''m ... frragjil?_

Obviously, he was inferring to a fragility not only in the physical sense, but emotional as well.

The frightening image of Jim's still face behind glass flashed before Spock's eyes again, an image he could not deliver himself from, despite countless attempts of meditation.

Either way, fragile was something James T. Kirk was not.

"Before our last mission, I recall one ensign fracturing a rib when she contracted the Andorian flu," Spock remarked. "Another fracturing two ribs from the act of coughing."

Jim looked up, this third smile the warmest.

 _Thank you,_ hemouthed.

"What troubles you, Jim?" Spock asked without warning, testing Jim.

He was not surprised when Jim tried clenching his hands in an effort to control them. He patiently waited, sensing that Jim would only suffer from his interference.

Licking his lips, a look of steady concentration on his face, Jim began to type. _Jocceelyn wgangts Jnojo. Take hrer aaway froium bBones. She';ps syuuspicious._

Spock immediately calculated every possible, influencing factor. _She suspects Doctor McCoy has misstepped. In Starfleet, and in regards to you._

Eyes wide, Jim nodded.

_That information is classified._

_Shh''e trryinng. It'sss why Bonmes came. L'llawyr._ Jim hesitated _. She'll Usre annhything Bbonessss does as an erxccus.....the waay he drivves, eats, huugss Jooji...And Bones doekksn't kknow that I knoow. He's....prottectinhng._

 _He is shielding his patient from undo stress. You, Jim,_ Spock countered.

Which could have proved to be the doctor's greatest error.

"I will do what I am able, Jim, to prevent Doctor McCoy from losing his child," Spock said softly, knowing it would be the first thing he would do once he was done speaking with Jim.

Jim's eyes shone with relief, tears pooling. _Thank you_ , he mouthed, but in the process, it quickly became a wide yawn.

"You must rest," Spock said.

Jim frowned.

"There is something else troubling you, Jim."

Jim shook his head once, then nodded.

"I do not have any other appointments. I will wait..."

Jim made a face. _Youu cleared yojur schhuile for me?_

"Indeed."

 _Wow_ , Jim mouthed, breaking into another yawn. He closed his eyes, and as if he'd forgotten Spock was there, and rested his head against the chair.

"Jim," he called.

Jim's brows rose without opening his eyes.

"Jim," he said louder, debating with himself just to let the captain sleep.

Jim's eyes shot open. In a bleary-eyed panic, he typed, _It'ms Bonnes. Me._

"You are having difficulty with your friendship," Spock determined.

Jim's eyes widened. _You coould saqy thatt. Howw did yyou know?_

_Given that Doctor McCoy is not only your primary physician but also your friend, I ascertained the stress I have observed you were both experiencing led to the doctor's decision, thereby allowing you to accompany him to Atlanta. I expected you would have been given the opportunity to discuss your friendship. However, I see this is not the case. You cannot, your unwell state prevailing._

Jim winced.

_Has something else of significance occurred?_

Jim winced again.

_I see. And this...has damaged the friendship?_

Jim stared at him. _Yes_ , he mouthed. He scratched his cheek. _No_.

"Could you clarify, Jim?" Spock asked quietly.

_Opposzitee. I'm...Confuszed. Sccarged. Bones. Me...it's commplicxcated. Wjith me...liike this bhut I need...huim._

Spock hesitated, what he intended to say an infringement upon Jim's personal life. However, being that Jim himself initiated this conversation, Spock allowed his instinct to influence his decision to speak freely. _Jim, you are inferring that your feelings for Doctor McCoy go beyond friendship._

Jim's face flushed pink.

"Does he reciprocate those feelings?"

 _Shh!! Hie meight hear youj._ Jim finished, casting a furtive glance to the side.

 _My apologies. I forgot myself. Allow yourself to heal. I have no doubt that he, as your friend, will bestow upon you the utmost patience at this time._ Spock's fingers paused, considering the numerous times he had watched McCoy observe Jim, Jim oblivious. Or McCoy's attentiveness in sickbay, the familiar banter between them. _And perhaps... more. It would explain why -_

He glanced up, sensing something amiss. He was not wrong. Jim's head had dipped so low his chin touched his shoulder, mouth hanging open.

He had simply fallen asleep.

Just as Spock was about to pick up his comm, the image through his screen moved, revealing a blurred view of Mrs. McCoy’s living room.

"Jimbo, what am I gonna do with you. That can't be comfortable," he heard McCoy mutter. "Hold on, Spock. Here, Jim. That's it...just curl yourself around that blanket...I'll get you another one so you can snuggle the way ya like. Just sleep, Jim...no one's gonna say ya need to do otherwise."

A few seconds later, a frowning Doctor McCoy appeared on the screen, the doctor obviously walking away from Jim. "It looks like I came down just in time. Sorry about that, Spock. I had a feeling he wouldn't last long. It's been quite the morning for him."

"Do not apologize. Our conversation was sufficient."

"Sufficient?" McCoy snorted. "Well, I suppose that's better conversation than I'm getting from him."

Spock lifted a brow. "He is unable to speak. Conversation is limited, doctor."

"You don't think I know that, Spock?" McCoy groused.

“I did not intend to imply that you didn't. I stated my opinion in an effort to remind you.”

"It's just...it's a little more complicated than that."

"I must concur," Spock admitted, recalling Jim's tremors, the spelling errors despite Jim's laborious attempts for accuracy. "He was not steady as he typed."

"His hands shook?" McCoy asked, mouth set.

"Yes, the tremors emerging partway into our conversation."

McCoy sighed. "I appreciate you telling me. These are things I need to mention in my notes, and they've been occurring all too often. Listen, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you later, again, since he had to sneak in another little nap. You will, won't you?" McCoy hesitated, looking so unsure of himself, an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes, that Spock's mouth opened in surprise. "Talk to him again? You don't know what this meant to him."

Spock quickly regained his composure and nodded. "I will speak with the captain at his convenience."

"Captain, my ass," McCoy muttered. "He snuggles with blankets, and makes my computers go all crazy. Me, too, for that matter, holding back like he is, not that I blame him. His health _is_ at stake."

Not understanding McCoy's ramblings, he remained quiet.

"Just, make sure you can talk later, alright?" McCoy finished in a huff.

Compelled to agree for Jim's sake, he replied, "Of course."

He had every intention of being available for Jim, also to fulfill his promise regarding young Joanna. In fact, because of the tasks set before him, he would do more than what Jim - or McCoy - even expected.

If he left within two hours, he would be in Atlanta with daylight to spare.

 


	7. I'll see it on your face (we are tired men)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all of you who are reading this story. I can't say how appreciative I am that you are following along, giving kudos, and reviewing. I hope you enjoy this update. I'm literally in shock that this chapter is going up not even two weeks out since the last chapter. I was sick this past weekend, for one, my little boy was sick, and then the word count for this ended up being enormous. 
> 
> I'm personally encouraged. :0 It's the "eve" of my birthday and it's nice to get this particular chapter posted. I can't thank [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/profile) enough for betaing. She's been so generous of her time when she is busy with school and her own fic. I am truly grateful.
> 
> This first scene is McCoy's POV, beginning right at the end of the treatment for Jim's fractured ribs and going through the conversation he has with Spock. So, yes, I backtracked just a little into Chapter 6. I really wanted to share McCoy's viewpoint, so please bear with me. Plus, maybe it's not so much of a secret now, but he's my favorite. :) Then, the second scene? It takes up the larger part of this word count and is pretty important. I hope you all enjoy it!

"Jim, we're done," McCoy murmured as he stood over Jim, having just brought over a shirt to replace the one he’d discarded.

Eyes closed, Jim looked almost too peaceful to disturb. For a split second, McCoy considered pulling a blanket over and tucking the edges around Jim's body just like he knew he liked it, letting him sleep instead, and heading upstairs to see Jojo.

Or, simply put, skipping the call to Spock.

Setting the shirt on the chair beside Jim, McCoy dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. No, skipping the call wouldn't do. Not today, not now. Jim smiled very little these days, McCoy was beginning to see the hairline fractures in his gloomy countenance ever since they’d arrived in Atlanta. The mere mention of Spock lit up his face. McCoy wouldn't take that away from him.

He brought Jim's chair up to a lounging, sitting position, hoping the movement would wake him. Of course it didn't. He was already starting to snore. Chuckling to himself, McCoy sat down and grabbed Jim's hand without thinking.

He stared at their hands, the moment almost surreal. Jim had agreed to this next step, and McCoy believed this progression was the wisest thing that they could do. Reluctant to give that up just because Jim had fallen asleep, he laced his fingers through Jim's, much like they'd been entwined the past two hours.

Holding Jim’s hand ignited something in McCoy. The urge to stroke his forehead overwhelming, McCoy reached over with the intention to do just that, but his hand hovered above Jim’s face, gaze falling on the younger man's mouth. He froze.

He could kiss Jim, make whatever it was between them more, catch him off guard. He _could_ do that, it seemed more than natural.

McCoy's fingers twitched. Holding Jim's hand or touching his face simply wasn't enough to curb the appetite he had for the man. How easy it would be to lean down and press his lips to Jim's mouth, or even his forehead. It seemed right to McCoy.

But it wouldn't be right for Jim. McCoy had to show restraint.

He exhaled slowly, his sigh turning into a faint, frustrated groan. He leaned forward, his hand brushing across Jim’s forehead, using Spock as an excuse to do so. He hated to disturb Jim, but he wouldn't stand in the way of this one small thing that meant the world to him. McCoy repeated the light stroke across Jim's skin over and over, soon seeing confused slivers of blue looking aimlessly around.

"Yeah, completely done," McCoy said, lips twisting in a wry grin. Jim's hand warm in his, he had nothing but hopeful thoughts for their relationship. So much was uncertain, but he wouldn't begrudge himself those thoughts, at least. "I think you can fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything, Jimbo."

Jim had fallen asleep only a few minutes ago. He'd never budged, sleeping like a rock while McCoy cleaned things up. Jim frowned and looked down at his chest, maybe realizing through the haze of exhaustion that he’d slept through the removal of the regen units. A second later though, he shrugged, indifferent to the situation, and squeezed McCoy's hand.

A warm, tingling sensation shot up McCoy's arm, something else happening to his heart when Jim looked at him, eyes full of trust. He swallowed, hardly remembering the last time he’d felt this way. His time with Jocelyn seemed a lifetime ago, too far in the past to dwell on much at all, save a few random things he couldn't seem to forget.

He did know this much, he'd fallen harder for Jim than he had for Joce. He wouldn't get over Jim like he had Joce if this—whatever it was that they were headed towards—didn't work out.

"Ya might want to stretch your legs before talking with Spock," McCoy finally said, voice catching.

Jim didn't seem to notice. Instead, he snatched the device that was on the table beside him in one hand, his other tightening again around McCoy's.

 _Thanks for waking me._ Jim typed.

"And have Spock keep hounding me about you?" McCoy said, shaking his head. "No thank you."

Jim gave a genuine if not tired grin. It stopped McCoy's heart.

He reluctantly let go, sensing the need to give Jim space. Jim pushed himself upright and took the clean shirt McCoy handed him. He pulled it over his head, arms pushing through the holes without any trouble, hesitating before realizing the regen units had done their job to heal him and he could move freely without pain.

"Feeling good?" McCoy asked, a small part of him anxious that Jim was just putting on a brave face.

McCoy expected him to have some trouble being mobile again, just like this morning, but it didn't mean that he'd stop worrying the man. Couldn’t McCoy go ten minutes without fretting? In Jim's current condition, probably not. Now that they'd stepped up their relationship, probably never. At least...not yet.

It took McCoy by surprise, because he couldn't recall ever feeling this way about Jocelyn in all the years they'd been married. He may have given it his best shot, at least until that last year together, but things changed. His guilt over his father's death had eaten him alive, sucking his love for Joce right along with it.

Recalling the countless days he'd been a dark, brooding man, hiding the alcohol behind a smile and life that wasn't there, no wonder she'd divorced him. He'd thought the two of them had worked things out over the past two years, reached a place in their relationship where—sure they weren’t in love anymore, but they could stand the other. Apparently, she still held a grudge if this current situation gave any indication. But, McCoy wouldn't discount the things that Jocelyn herself had done to exacerbate the problems of their marriage.

Maybe, just maybe, _he_ was the one who should be holding that grudge.

Shaking his head at himself, he belatedly realized Jim had held out the device for him to read.

Jim peered at him warily. _I'll do this myself, okay?_

"Sure," McCoy said, giving him a small smile.

He let go of Jim's hand and backed away, but his fingers itched to help, prevent another break and protect Jim from any harm that could possibly come to him. Quite frankly, Jim's wobbling knees resembled those of a newborn foal as he stood, not that McCoy would ever tell him that.

Jim gripped the back of the chair, shifting his stance unsteadily, but it was the frown-turned-scowl warning McCoy to stay back if he knew what was good for him. He counted to five, extending it to ten. As much as he wanted to make sure Jim didn't fall and break more bones, the man simply needed to test his independence.

"Just let me know when you're ready to do a little walkin'," McCoy commanded, hoping it would nudge him along instead of standing here, waiting for an accident to happen. "Take it easy, Jim," he encouraged.

Jim nodded but made no effort to take a step. He squirmed as he stood, face contorted in concentration, eyes fixed on his feet. McCoy exhaled slowly, holding himself back. It was all he could do not to stalk forward and grasp Jim's arm to keep him upright once he got there.

Giving him another moment, McCoy's eyes passed over him, wanting to spot anything abnormal which could also explain his awkward stance.

When Jim sighed loudly, McCoy couldn't hold his tongue. "Jim, is everything alright?"

Jim's cheeks flushed and he picked up his PADD and typed. _No, not really._

"What's wrong?" McCoy asked quickly, taking a large step toward Jim. "Are ya feelin' queasy, again?"

The rise on his cheeks deepening, Jim typed, _No, it's not that. I...I'm not.._.Jim closed his eyes briefly, sighing and shaking his head in what seemed to be frustration. _Comfortable enough to start walking,_ he finished.

"Take it easy then, Jim," McCoy reminded him, sensing that a surge of adrenaline would soon hit Jim, not wanting him to push too hard or too quickly if he wasn't comfortable. "It's expected after the two hour session you had with the regen units."

Jim typed hastily. _No, it's not that, it's..._  He stopped, swallowing, looking nervous, knots growing in McCoy's own stomach as he half-expected the tremors to reappear. _This._

"This?" McCoy echoed, mentally scratching his head. "Jim, you're going to have to be more specific."

_You know...the **thing.**_

"Yes, exactly what I mean, Jim," McCoy said dryly. "Specific."

 _The...cath._ When Jim's eye widened, turning slightly glassy and increasing the overall younger, more vulnerable appearance he already had, McCoy couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

Of course. The catheter. In fact—McCoy paused, lifting his own device. According to his list, that was the next thing he needed to take care of.

"I’m not surprised it's bothering you," McCoy said slowly, gaze drifting back to Jim. "You were on your back for awhile. Two hours, kid, engaged with a painful treatment, and on top of that misery, you've been without the therapy you've needed for at least twenty four hours. I imagine you’re a bit uncomfortable. The catheter does need cleaned, more than likely an adjustment, too. My mama showed you what to do, how to clean yourself, but if it's bothering ya more than before, you'll need..." McCoy's voice faded. Jim looked down at his feet, bottom lip twisting between his teeth as tightly as could be.

McCoy could see where this was headed. He didn't want to lose the ground he made with him, so he decided he'd do whatever it took for Jim to feel perfectly at ease.

"Jim, I can get her to help you if you'd rather," McCoy offered.

Jim inhaled a tremulous breath. _No_ , he mouthed, leaving McCoy momentarily speechless.

He'd not expected that at all. He had assumed Jim would prefer Nora to care for his more personal needs.

"Are ya sure?" McCoy questioned in a soft voice.

Jim nodded, pulling his gaze up from the floor. _You can help me. The quicker we move, the sooner I talk to Spock. And I think I can just make it to the bathroom. Then you can check things._

Understanding dawned on McCoy. Jim's decision was purely tactical, not relational. That they'd held hands for nearly two hours, fingers intimately entwined, had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with the decision Jim had made for himself. Jim Kirk was Captain, after all.

But, this realization didn't hurt McCoy one bit. In fact, his chest swelled up with pride.

Written as plain as day in Nora's notes had been that one James T. Kirk had an accident while standing on the bath rug and shortly following, appeared to be dealing with the resulting shame. As much as McCoy hated to think it, when had been the last time since the warp core that Jim had ever shown this sort of mental or emotional strength regarding anything that affected him so personally? If Jim could do _this_ , despite recently suffering emotionally from his limitations, it simply meant progress.

McCoy couldn't help but wonder other things would encourage Jim's captainly side out of hiding?

"Oh, let him wait," McCoy grumbled, struggling to hide his emotion from his face.

Jim frowned. _What did Spock ever do to you?_

McCoy stared blankly at Jim. Spock had done nothing to McCoy, unless you counted saving the man he loved as doing something.

What did that question have to do with anything, anyway?

Jim rolled his eyes. _Exactly. Nothing._ Jim typed as if he'd just read Bones' mind. _Bones, you know he just wants to help. And I know you're just being grumpy to save face after all these weeks of communicating with him so much about me._

"Five minutes," McCoy stressed, ignoring Jim's comment.

_You're going to let me walk to the bathroom, right? By myself?_

"Think you can make it?"

Jim nodded.

Inwardly, McCoy was pleased with Jim's response but he merely arched a brow, feigning doubt. "If you're sure..."

Jim glanced at him, indignant, and typed, _I can do it. It's just my injury, even though it's healed, my back, too. I just feel...stiff._

"You feel like you haven't had therapy for a couple days," McCoy muttered, wondering what the hell was HQ's hold up.

It wasn't like this was really a lot to ask of them. In fact, it'd benefit Starfleet. Jim had retained his captaincy, many thanks going to the documented fight Pike had put up for Jim before he died. This was the golden opportunity on behalf of the admirals to ensure Captain Kirk's sound recovery, to honor Jim who had sacrificed so much. Maybe even to provide good press for Starfleet, which had had it's second hit in only two years.

Jim grimaced. _And this tube from hell may be annoying but it'll be gone later today, right?_

Jim's eyes hopeful, McCoy nodded. "It's quite possible, especially if your numbers are looking up. The more treatments you have, the more difficult the side effects, but the injections should give quicker results."

Jim narrowed his eyes. _Bones, that's bullshit._

"I know it doesn't look like it, but it's the way this therapy works," McCoy said reluctantly, understanding Jim's doubt. "And we can't stop the treatment, for any reason, no matter how hard they are. I'll take another tricorder reading right before you call Spock."

Jim suddenly looked nervous, eyes hesitating as he slowly typed. _Spock's going to worry. I know he will. I have to look bad._ Jim stilled, frozen, clearly wanting McCoy's opinion on the matter.

Well, he'd give him one. "He's going to worry if you don't get your ass movin' along, Jim," McCoy stressed, ignoring any mention of Jim's haggard appearance. Instead, he gave Jim the push he needed. "You're making him wait even longer." Sometimes, this was the best way to motivate someone like Jim Kirk.

Jim stared. _Thought you wanted me to make him wait._

"Not really," McCoy admitted. "He keeps bugging me about you so much I'm wondering just who exactly held hand—"

He clamped his mouth shut before making a fool of himself.

Jim blinked at him, face scrunching in confusion. _What?_

He and his big mouth.

It may not seem like it, but he really wasn't jealous of Spock. Christ, the thought was ridiculous. He was frustrated with Jim, but not Jim himself. He just resented the inconvenient situation preventing them from moving forward in the leaps and bounds that he'd hoped for.

"Nothin'. Let's just get moving so I don't have to answer another damn message," McCoy said, not at all humble that he'd just deflected as good as Jim.

 _Oh. Thanks, though._ Jim's small smile caused something to pool in the pit of McCoy's belly. _For letting him keep tabs. It...I think it helps him, Bones._

"I know," McCoy said, grunting.

And he did know. At the very least he understood the need to keep tabs on Jim. Because, maybe what Spock had experienced, Jim dying, was actually worse than seeing a body bag filled with a best friend. Maybe it was worse, because Jim had been behind the glass, shut off from friends, shut off from touch, and...maybe McCoy was a complete idiot for even comparing the two. Things were already fucked up. He sure didn't need to add to it by contemplating Jim's death like this.

But, Jim was absolutely right. Spock did need contact with Jim, even if it was just gaining knowledge about Jim through McCoy. But it wasn't just Spock who needed Jim. The _crew_ needed Jim. After all they'd been through together, any contact they had with their captain meant the world to them.

Shaking his head, expression neutral, Jim waved his hand at Bones like he was dismissing a class. _Coming?_ he mouthed.

"After you, your highness," McCoy said, amused at the little quirks of Captain Kirk which were finally making their appearance. McCoy had to admit, it was like taking a breath of fresh air just to seem them again.

Jim rolled his eyes before loping his way to the bathroom that was just around the corner, half the distance to the one in his bedroom. What could have been an embarrassment for both of them simply wasn’t. Jim maintained an easy expression as McCoy helped him in the bathroom, and in turn, McCoy couldn't help but feel like he was helping his friend, not his patient. He wondered why that was, but didn't have much time to think on it because before he knew it, Jim was done and they were headed back to the living room. Although Jim clearly was exhausted, his stride eased up, losing the stiffness he'd had minutes ago.

McCoy saw a break in the clouds. It was good news for his notes, which looked gloomy and dismal no matter which way you squinted at them or held them.

Jim settled back on the couch, yawning consecutively. McCoy quickly took a tricorder reading, impatient to study the results, but those would have to wait until he had a few moments alone. He tossed Jim a stern look. "I'll be back in five minutes."

Jim held up ten fingers, wearing honest to goodness, puppy-dog eyes, the likes of which McCoy had never seen before, even on Jim Kirk.

Oh, no. He wasn't falling for this. If he did even once, he'd be a sucker for the second time. And then a third and a fourth. In fact, it would be finished. Over.

McCoy scowled. "You just spent two hours on your back in pain, Jim, and you're yawnin' like it's going out of style. I'm certainly not allowing you any more than the length of time we agreed on," he said, placing his hands on his hips. There wasn’t any need to tell Jim they hadn’t exactly agreed to anything of the sort.

He turned to leave, making one grave mistake. He forgot that Jim Kirk had a weapon at his fingertips.

The pillow hit the back of his head as he took his third step.

"Brat," McCoy muttered, wiped the grin off his face and spun back around. Seeing Jim's lack of remorse, the petulant expression there instead, McCoy crossed his arms. "I'm not changing my mind."

 _Please?_ Jim had already written in enlarged type, holding the PADD up like a nervous kid would hold their hand up in class.

"Jim," McCoy said sternly. "No."

Jim typed. _U R NO FUN_

McCoy's lips twitched at Jim's use of all capital letters. "No fun? I just might be offended by that. By the way, Jimbo, when you fall asleep, don't come cryin' to me," McCoy said, smirking and picking up the pillow with unprecedented flair, pressing it against his chest possessively.

Holding it captive, it was amusing to see what Jim would do. McCoy wasn't sure what had gotten into him. A crazy thought was that this banter between them was here to stay, and not only a crazy thought, but a comforting one, too. Besides, it wasn't like McCoy was taking all his pillows. The one for Jim's back was right where it should be, supporting Jim's injury from the warp core.

"I'll be back down in five," McCoy said and stepped back instead of returning the pillow to Jim.

Jim's mouth dropped open. He narrowed his eyes at McCoy, a silent indicator that he wanted the thing back.

"Oh, no," McCoy shook his head. "You started it. This is mine now."

Jim typed and spun the device back around for McCoy to read in record time.

"Childish,” McCoy read aloud, chuckling at the single, enlarged word on the screen, Jim simultaneously sticking his tongue out at McCoy.

"No, it's the pot callin' the kettle black," McCoy drawled, brows wagging. "See ya around, kid. I think I may like the way this pillow feels more than my own. Shows ya how much my mama loves you, you know, giving you the best, and how much...."

McCoy cut himself off. He took a shaky breath, not really knowing how he'd manage to stop himself from making a proclamation he wasn't sure Jim would even accept.

Jim looked widely at him, maybe even scared or confused that his teasing wasn't real, if he was reading him right. And he probably was. When was the last time that McCoy had really joked around with him like this? Weeks ago? Or had it been months?

McCoy cocked an eye at Jim. "Don't be expecting it back."

As he walked away, feeling more light-hearted than he'd had for days, he could've sworn he heard Jim's incessant whining that he’d stolen one of his pillows right from under his nose. It was a whining he missed, the side of Jim that’d been absent, the carefree joy he used to emulate now dormant. But, this was a start.

Leaving Jim alone wasn't easy, but he took the stairs two at a time. Granted, Jim would be face to face with Spock any second. He would be fine except he looked too tired to stay awake much longer. McCoy would keep to his five-minute rule, maybe even fudging a little.

Immersed in his own head, he caught himself just in time before he tore through Jojo's bedroom door. He didn't want her seeing him unsettled. Holding the pillow at his side, he walked into Jojo's room, not sure what to expect. When Nora and Jojo "played," one could stumble upon a variety of possibilities, A simple game of Go Fish, make-believe princesses fighting dragons and rescuing princes, tea parties involving an entire table of stuffed aliens and dolls-turned-ambassadors.

Or, McCoy thought as his gaze fell on Jojo—sitting on the edge of the bed, quiet, eyes cast down, the trace of tears on her cheeks—a little girl plopped right in the middle of multiple messes that weren't her fault.

He came to stand beside his mother, whose expression was unreadable.

"Is it...Jim? Joce?" he asked carefully.

Nora leaned in closer to him. "As soon as we were done with our tea, she started thinking of James again, and the pain he'd be in," she murmured in his ear, Jojo's attention still on the floor. "I can't get her mind off him, but she's more upset over what Joce said about her Uncle Jim. She knows Joce is wrong. It's confusing her."

His heart clenched, nearly wringing him dry after the morning they'd all had.

This was why he couldn't hurt Jojo more than she was already. This was why he couldn't fight for his own daughter, not if it was a battle fought at her expense, McCoy on the losing side. He didn't want her to see her mother in a negative light. He'd keep the peace, but in doing so, he'd have to take what he could get. It wouldn't be much. He'd be lucky to speak with her once a year.

If Joce had her way, he'd be lucky to be even counted as her father when it was all said and done.

"Jojo, darlin'," McCoy whispered, kneeling in front of her. He placed Jim's pillow on the floor, setting aside one responsibility for another. When her lower lip trembled, he squeezed her knee with great care. She didn't respond, and he took one of her hands in both of his own, finally drawing her gaze up from the floor.

"Is Uncle Jim better yet?" she asked, staring into McCoy's eyes, full of trust just like Jim's.

The irony was not lost on McCoy, who was the very cause of their pain. At times, he believed he should be the last person they should ever trust.

"His ribs are healed, darlin'," McCoy said, careful to distinguish the injuries for her. "He was very brave, Jojo.”

"Then Mommy is wrong," she said, sniffling. "You should tell her the truth, shouldn't you, Daddy? So she's not confused? Don't you tell me to tell the truth?"

McCoy exchanged a glance with Nora. Out of the mouth of babes.

He ran a hand over his face, looking everywhere but at the child in front of him. What if he did tell Joce the truth? What then?

"I forgot something from home, my favorite pjs," Jojo went on. "Nana already told Mommy and she's coming over later. Daddy, maybe you can tell her then? So she understands? I don't like it when she's upset with Uncle Jim."

McCoy closed his eyes, frustration rising. Of course they had no choice but... Joce was coming back already? If that was the case, there was no way in hell that he'd let her come within fifty meters of Jim. He'd meet her at the end of the driveway if he had to.

"Jo..." He sighed tiredly and glanced down at her.

"Are you going to yell at me, too? Like Mommy does when I ask too many questions? She...she never used to,” she added in a subdued voice.

"No, sweetheart, I'm not," McCoy answered quickly. He ran his hand along her cheek, peering into her eyes. They were filled with a pain he couldn't heal, not even with all of his medical expertise.“You're a caring little girl, Jojo,” he told her softly. “Who has Uncle Jim and your mother's best interests at heart. No one is going to yell at you for that."

She swallowed, large tears sliding down her cheeks. "I w-w-want to stay with you all the t-time, Daddy. I don't w-wanna g-go h-h-home."

"Darlin', I want nothin' more, but your mother needs you," McCoy said, brushing back a tendril of hair plastered to her face. "She loves you, just like I do. She would miss you something terrible, Jojo. And think...think about the times we _do_ have, like this," he said, heart pounding at the white lie he was spinning.

She teetered wordlessly into his arms, crying softly.

Jojo had responded strongly to Jim's ill health, but this didn't concern him the most. It was her response to her mother’s behavior and to McCoy’s absence. For this reason, he wanted to hold her forever, comfort her as a father should. He didn't have much time with her, and when he did, like now, his time was divided.

He waited until her cries died down, which wasn't long, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Sweety, I need to go back downstairs and check on your Uncle Jim. Then we can spend more time together."

"Okay," she whispered

Jojo nuzzled his neck, something that she used to do when she was younger. It reminded him of when they'd all been a family. Maybe not happy, but together. It would never be like that again.

He pulled her closer. He could only hope for what he had now.

"Then you'll play a game with me?" she asked, voice catching.

"Then I'll play a game with you," McCoy promised, letting her go. He kissed her cheek before standing and nodded to his mother. "Jim needs to sleep, so it won't take long."

"We'll be fine, won't we, sugar?" Nora said, smiling.

"And you'll be back, Daddy?" Jojo asked, squeezing her knees to her chest.

"You bet," he said in a soft voice.

"Like always?" she added sweetly.

Feeling his mama's probing eyes upon him, he could hear what she was thinking, what she wanted to ask him—had Jocelyn agreed to these few days with Jojo because they could be his last with her?

McCoy's ears began to roar. Surely that wasn't what Jocelyn had intended.

"Leonard," Nora said quietly, nudging him.

"Like always, Jojo," McCoy encouraged, and forced a smile, assuring his daughter the only way he knew how.

Noting the time on the chronometer, McCoy strode from the room and made record time coming down the stairs. Jim was already asleep, neck awkwardly hanging to one side. McCoy immediately blamed himself for the sore neck Jim might have later on, because if he hadn't taken he damn pillow, this wouldn't have happened.

"Jimbo, what am I gonna do with you. That can't be comfortable. Hold on, Spock," McCoy sighed. He removed the device from Jim's lap and set it on the chair beside him. "Here, Jim. That's it..."

McCoy paused, grabbing a pillow from the couch, improvising since he’d left the other upstairs. He gently guided Jim's head back against it. He stirred in his sleep, eyes closed, clawing at the blanket escaping from his grasp. McCoy brought the blanket up to his chin. Jim stirred again, this time settling contentedly.

"Just curl yourself around that blanket,” McCoy urged him quietly. “I'll get you another one so you can snuggle the way ya like. Just sleep, Jim...no one's gonna say ya need to do otherwise."

He adjusted the blanket, pausing to watch Jim and make sure he was in a deeper sleep than before. Seeing that he was, McCoy grabbed the device and headed for the stairs.

"It looks like I came down just in time," he said, scowling at the screen. "Sorry about that, Spock. I had a feeling he wouldn't last long. It's been quite the morning for him."

"Do not apologize. Our conversation was sufficient," Spock said.

"Sufficient?" McCoy snorted, his frustrations at the surface finally spilling over. "Well, I suppose that's better conversation than I'm getting from him."

Spock lifted a brow. "He is unable to speak. Conversation is limited, doctor."

"You don't think I know that, Spock?" McCoy groused, practically spitting out the words. He really hated when Spock pointed out the obvious. Even if he did need to hear it.

“I did not intend to imply that you didn't. I stated my opinion in an effort to remind you.”

"It's just...it's a little more complicated than that," McCoy said, deflated.

"I must concur," Spock stated. "He was not steady as he typed."

"His hands shook?" McCoy asked, feeling the strain of the news.

"Yes, the tremors emerged partway into our conversation."

McCoy sighed and stopped at the foot of the stairs. "I appreciate you telling me. These are things I need to mention in my notes, and they've been occurring all too often. Listen, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you later, since he had to sneak in another little nap. You will, won't you?" McCoy hesitated. He could just imagine the depressed look on Jim's face if he didn't get the chance to speak with Spock again. "Talk to him again? You don't know what this meant to him."

Spock nodded. "I will speak with the captain at his convenience."

"Captain, my ass," McCoy complained.

The man in the other room was an overgrown kid who had far too many attributes McCoy found attractive. He went on, needing to complain to someone who had impeccable listening skills. Someone like Spock.

"He snuggles with blankets, and makes my computers go all crazy," McCoy said, unable to stop when Spock didn't offer a counter to fill the space. "Me, too, for that matter, holding back like he is, not that I blame him. His health _is_ at stake. Just, make sure you can talk later, alright?" He finished in a huff, Spock's silence unnerving.

"Of course," Spock replied.

"Good," McCoy clipped. "I better go. I need to spend some time with Jojo before Jim wakes up."

"Is your visit with Joanna going as you anticipated?" Spock asked, slight tilt to his head.

McCoy didn't know how to answer that. Spock appeared genuinely interested, but was this a trick question? Did Vulcans even ask those? Logically speaking, Spock could shed some light on this battle with Jocelyn, but McCoy didn't feel right bringing him into the mess. Besides, he'd already decided he had to play fair to protect Jojo.

"These visits are always too short," he managed, skirting the required honest answer entirely.

"Have you received word from headquarters regarding your request to remain in Atlanta with the captain?” Spock asked.

"Not yet," McCoy said, grateful for the change of subject and somewhat amused that Spock had ignored his desire to end the call. "But I think I'll send Admiral Archer a message while Jim is taking a rest."

"A wise decision, doctor," Spock said.

"I'll let you know if there are any changes," McCoy said with finality. Spock nodded before their connection cut.

McCoy's arms dropped, the device loose in his hands. He turned and leaned his back against the wall, allowing his body to sag.

But only for a moment. He simply didn't have time to spare.

 

oOo

 

Jim woke from his nap with one thing on his mind. It wasn't that he'd fallen asleep while talking with Spock, as embarrassing as that was, or that the house was deathly silent. Instead, it was that his fingers were attacking his own skin—and he couldn't stop them.

He stared at the marks on his arms, knew they didn't mean anything good, but he couldn't help himself. There was no relief, and he needed relief like he needed air to breathe. There was a constant oppression, an insatiable sensation that began at the top of his skull and traveled clear down to his damn toenails.

His skin was simply crawling. He had to stop it, and if he couldn't, then he had to escape his own skin. Nothing else mattered. Heart racing, he dug his nails deeper into his arms, and finally registered the pain.

Suddenly more confused than ever before, he caught himself.

What was he doing? Unable to catch his breath, Jim clenched his eyes shut, swallowing harshly. He didn't know why he felt like this, but he couldn't irritate his skin or risk some type of infection if he scratched too hard. He knew enough about his own treatment to understand the risks even in the mundane things of life. He couldn't raise his heart rate like this, either. Bones was going to chew him a new one if he kept this up.

Speaking of Bones. Where was he? It was strange that he wasn't here in the same room as Jim but...there must be a reason. Jim breathed deeply through his nostrils, using all the focus that he could to stop his fingers from injuring himself beyond a few scratches.

He wasn't proud of the fact, but the sensation reminded him of a challenging point in his life when he'd been a teenager. Specifically, the morning after he'd tried a hit from a stranger on a dare, on a shuttle bound for the east coast, on his seventeenth birthday to be exact. After experiencing the horrid sweats and paranoia, losing all his money and memory of what happened the night before, he’d never tried drugs of that type again. That, and he'd wanted to keep his wits about him.

He'd learned quickly because of that mistake that he wasn't as smart as he’d thought. He'd been stupid and he couldn't afford to be stupid again. Running from the law and being successful at it was not only luck, but partially a learned art, jail having solidified that opinion of himself.

Pike had done more than dare Jim to join Starfleet. He'd pulled a million strings to convince Starfleet to take Jim despite his record.

Thinking of Pike had the same effect it’d had on him before. Determined that he wouldn't fall victim to the same cycle of emotions he'd become so familiar with, Jim wrenched his fingers from his skin.

Like the signs of his grief, his fingers left marks he wouldn't be able to hide from Bones.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and tugged the sleeves of his shirt down all the way so that they covered his wrists. It wasn't like he'd never suffered from grief before or from some bizarre withdrawal. He could do this. He had to.

He sat at the edge of the chair, hand kneading his sweaty forehead, allowing himself a moment to adjust to being upright. Soon he was rubbing his arms all over again. His efforts did nothing to end this strange war accosting his body.

Jim finally resigned himself to the fact that this was something he couldn't get rid of on his own. But he wouldn't allow himself to even think that Bones couldn't fix this.

Jim made his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could. He wanted to use a refresher on his face and find some lotion, among other things, before seeing anyone, even Bones. He knew he looked horrible but more than that, he wanted to regain some of his dignity.

Though somewhat clumsy with his movements, he didn't take long. He didn't stare unnecessarily into the mirror. He took one look, and that was enough to see the dulled color of his eyes, the circles underneath them darker than he remembered. And, he noted sarcastically to himself, he didn't even have to look to know that he remained dependent upon rudimentary at best, medical tubing for his personal needs.

The only good thing about the time in the bathroom was the unexpected break from the sensation driving him crazy. When he applied water to his face, the incessant need to escape his own skin began to subside. Not completely, but it was enough for him to begin thinking more clearly. He leaned over the sink, using more water to wash his arms and then his face a second time. Noticing a clean stack of hand towels on the counter, he grabbed at the pile, taking two by accident. As one of the towels touched his cheek, the time shown on the chronometer caught his eye.

Jim stared in disbelief. He'd slept for six hours again? Was that all he could do anymore? He sighed and immediately set the towel down before drying his face. It seemed like he was either sleeping his life away or pushing himself to death in therapy.

Slightly depressed, he grew concerned by Bones' absence. Exiting the bathroom, he decided that the doctor must be really busy not to notice that Jim was awake.

Not that he minded all that much. He honestly preferred to be by himself as he walked around. It was freeing, having a little independence for once. But, the house was silent, which was even odder with Jojo around.

A vision of a smiling little girl changed his mind about being alone. Jim decided to investigate. Jojo's bedroom was upstairs, the most likely place for the McCoys to spend time together if they were trying to be quiet for Jim’s sake.

The stairs didn't seem impossible today, though he was sore and somewhat stiff. But when he reached the staircase, his stomach had other plans for him. It growled. Loudly. Jim sighed and wiped his still wet face with his sleeve. He didn't want experience a trigger that could ultimately hinder his progress, but he knew from today that food had the potential of being one such trigger. However, if he didn't eat, he'd feel even worse. He stood there, weighing the odds, unconsciously crossing his arms and scratching them.

He had a fifty-percent chance of flipping out or panicking again. So what. There were worse things in life. Jim knew that first hand.

Decision made, he stubbornly turned the opposite direction in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. He squared his shoulders just before entering but stopped short. Familiar voices drifted from the back porch and through the kitchen door that was cracked open.

"You'll have to bring James out here, Leonard," Nora said.

Jim held his breath. Nora's backyard? It was a breathtaking view from her porch. There was a garden, a small waterfall. He never mentioned it before to Bones, but he enjoyed Nora's backyard more than any sightseeing adventure in Atlanta. There was something about its simplicity and beauty that made Jim want to come back.

A swing creaked, the old-fashioned swing that Nora refused to oil or change. Jim could imagine Bones and Jojo together on the swing, Bones reading a book to Jojo. Maybe even Jojo falling asleep because of how peaceful it was out there, allowing Nora and Bones to talk, like they were doing now. No, he amended, imagining Bones' voice deepening as he read. Maybe Jojo would fall asleep simply because of her father's soft, drawling voice.

Jim relaxed against the wall, imagining he was out there instead of Jojo. Bones reading to him. Jim falling asleep, listening to the man he—

"So he can breath in all this pollen?" Bones snorted, startling Jim out of his daydreaming. "No."

"He needs a change in scenery," Nora pressed.

"He needs an infection in his lungs?" Bones asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Len," Nora sighed.

"Looks like it's going to rain again, anyway," Bones muttered.

"Which won't be a problem, either, with this roof over our heads. You can take precautions, son. He can wear a mask. A little time won't hurt him, Leonard," Nora argued.

Jim's chest filled with anticipation. He liked Nora's idea. In fact, he liked it a lot. He'd love to be out on the porch. Bones couldn't say no to his own mother, could he?

"I'm not sure it's the best idea," Bones replied, tone gruff.

Tears pricked Jim's eyes that Bones had shot down Nora's suggestion so easily, like he didn't care what Jim thought.

He instantly felt ashamed and blinked the tears back as fast as he could. Of course Bones cared, but even if it didn't matter to him, it wasn't like this was the end of the world. It was just the back porch. Besides, Bones was probably right. It could be too much of a risk to his health.

But if Bones wasn't right, Jim could sneak down when everyone was asleep. His bedroom was full of medical equipment and supplies. He'd be able to find a mask by himself.

"You can't protect him from everything," she said.

"That's not what I’m trying to do," Bones said, sounding frustrated.

There was a pause. "It isn't?" Nora asked.

Jim strained to hear Bones' reply but loud creaking covered his words, so much that when Bones entered the kitchen, he lurched to his feet.

Bones lifted his head at the noise, eyes widening in surprise. "You're up."

Jim's stomach growled. "I'm hungry," he whispered, shocked that his voice had come back at his first attempt to speak.

"Your voice is coming back. That's good." Bones' lips curved upwards. "I wondered if that would be the case, given that your numbers were better than expected."

The smile lighting Bones face was golden. Jim couldn't help but think that it was because he'd been asleep for six hours, allowing Bones all that time with Jojo. Time he didn't have to worry about Jim.

Jim wondered what he'd have to do to see it more often.

"Do you want to finish your food from earlier?" Bones asked.

"I'll get it," Jim decided, resisting the urge to scratch his arms in front of Bones.

"No, I'll do it," Bones shook his head. He pointed to the bar and stools behind Jim. "Sit."

His tone left no room for argument. Jim heaved himself up on a stool at the bar table, watching Bones' every move as he pulled out Jim's half eaten pancake and heated it for him.

Bones set the plate in front of Jim. "Syrup?"

Jim thought for a second, then nodded. Bones pulled it off the shelf and poured just the right amount on his pancake.

"Thanks," Jim said weakly.

"You're welcome," Bones' voice was warm, blanketing over him as Jim began to eat.

He was done in a minute, having not one negative thought about his food, or food in general. He sighed contentedly and sipped the glass of water Bones placed near his plate, missing the pleased look on his friend's face. But he did see the frown replacing it when Jim began to rub his arms.

"You're shivering," Bones said.

"I am a little cold," Jim admitted, voice still lacking strength.

"Well, then," Bones slapped his hands on the bar and stood. "I'll go get you another shirt—"

"No," Jim rushed out, voice cracking. He wasn't going to take Bones away from Jojo again, not over a little thing like this. "I can get it. Stay here...with...your family. They're the ones that need you."

Bones' eyes filled with hurt.

Guilt pricked at Jim when he realized what he'd said and how he'd said it. He hadn't meant it the way it sounded. He hadn't meant to denounce their friendship. He needed Bones just as much. And, he thought ruefully, more.

Maybe some other day Bones wouldn't have taken Jim's words the wrong way. But now, after all he'd done for Jim, going as far as to bring him along, no wonder it appeared to have been a slap in the face.

Bones looking absolutely crushed, Jim did the only thing he knew to do to fix it. He reached out and curled his hand around Bones'.

"Bones?" Jim asked softly.

"Yeah," Bones looked down at their hands, swallowing.

Jim sucked in a hasty breath. "It's getting late, so maybe I'll just change into something more comfortable," Jim said quickly, kicking himself for being insensitive. Hating himself more when he couldn't just apologize like anyone else would.

But, he wasn't anyone else. Neither was Bones, for that matter. They were who they were. They'd come out of this together just like they'd come out of everything else.

"Bones?" Jim pleaded with a whisper.

Bones' eyes began to lose a little of their hurt, telling Jim that he'd put Jim's insensitive remark aside, at least for now.

"Those aren't comfortable?" Bones laced his fingers through Jim's, gaze trailing down the length of his body. "They're the softest pants you brought with you."

Jim shrugged. "It's late," he croaked.

"You said that already," Bones said.

"They're the softest pants I have?" Jim rasped and scratched the back of his head.

"That fit, anyway." Bones's eyes narrowed. "Is there a specific reason you need something different?"

Jim peered past Bones and onto the porch, watching Nora and Jojo sip their tea.

"Jim?"

"What?" Jim looked back at Bones.

"Are they bothering you?" Bones asked. "The pants?"

"A little," Jim admitted in a whisper. "But...maybe it's just me."

"What do you mean?" Bones asked slowly.

"I feel like I'm...like my skin is crawling." Another shiver rippling through him, he squeezed Bones' hand involuntarily.

Bones nodded, walking around the bar and closing the gap between them, without letting go. "I'm not surprised. You're coming down from an intense drug treatment, and your numbers indicated that this session would be a fast turn around."

"Like a withdrawal?" Jim reached over with his free hand to scratch his arm, this time fingers burrowing under the sleeves of his shirt.

"Not exactly, but...." Bones hesitated. "I suppose you could describe it like that."

Jim winced. He was afraid of that.

"I have cream that will help," Bones said quietly, watching him.

"Okay," Jim swallowed.

He stood, ready to follow Bones, but neither of them let go of the other. Jim continued to rub his arm with his free hand, beginning to feel a little self-conscious. This scratching was ridiculous. Bones had to know this feeling was driving him crazy, but strangely enough, Bones wasn't paying attention to that.

Instead, the doctor's eyes fixated on Jim's face.

"Jim," Bones said, voice husky.

"What?" Jim couldn't even think with Bones so near, and it was just like Bones to invade Jim's personal space. It was like an unspoken challenge made to Jim, a way to tell him that he knew he was having trouble with one thing or another. A challenge for him to just come clean.

Or, Jim thought in awe, it was Bones simply finding a quiet moment so that he could make a move. Strangely enough, that was something Jim seemed incapable of managing himself, lately.

When Bones stood in front of him, unintentionally pressing him against the bar, he had to look up. He couldn't remember ever looking up at someone he'd kissed before. But without shoes, Jim was noticeably shorter than Bones.

"You...better...the..." He faltered as Bones bent his head, his intentions clear.

"The what?" Bones murmured, eyes probing.

Jim wasn't sure. He couldn't remember ever having this hard of a time speaking, either, but he was so drawn by the hazel eyes, and the affection there, that Bones was all he could think about.

"It was something...important," Jim whispered, heart fluttering in his chest.

There was no mistaking the attraction between them, and Bones was the one who was closing the gap this time. Bones was blatantly ignoring the decision they'd made earlier to keep things simple for at least another day.

Leonard McCoy was pretty damn good at breaking rules.

"I bet it was," Bones said softly, lips inches away.

Jim closed his eyes, heart lightly drumming, anticipating their second kiss.

"Daddy?"

Groaning, Bones suddenly pressed his forehead against Jim's, kiss forgotten.

"Daddy, watcha—oh, hi Uncle Jim! I'm so glad you're awake now!" Jojo said excitedly.

Unable to catch his breath, Jim feared he'd lose his balance as before. But he didn't have to worry. The bar was at his back, and a warm, strong hand already cupped Jim's hip. Instinctively, he reached out, taking hold of Bones' forearm.

Both breathing heavily, they leaned on each other to steady themselves. Bones' forehead remained pressed up against Jim's, their faces together in the middle of the kitchen and a seven year old right inside the kitchen door.

"Daddy, you're missing our adventure," Jojo went on. "Uncle Jim, too!"

"I'll...be right there, darlin,'" Bones managed, turning his face towards her, the movement turning Jim's the opposite direction.

Jim's face was now tucked into Bones' neck, but Bones made no move away from him. His heart beat unsteadily when he realized that he'd been locked in an embrace. He slowly relaxed into the man, relishing their intimacy and the scent of Bones, relishing the hand resting on his hip and another curving around his back.

"Okay," the sweet voice answered, fading.

Silence filled the room. Jim didn't dare move, didn't dare lose this closeness with Bones. He could've sworn it took them a full minute to pull themselves out of their daze.

"I'll get...the cream," Bones said, voice ragged as he stepped back.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Jim said, swallowing after his throaty rasp. He wiped his mouth nervously.

"And your shirt," Bones rushed out, spinning around. "I'll be right back," Bones said without looking and strode from the room.

Jim stared after him, numb. Had that really just happened? For the second time in a row? He slumped onto the stool, another moment slipping by.

Jojo had impeccable timing, if stopping her dad from kissing Jim was her goal.

"Here," Bones said, back a little later than expected.

But, then again, Jim wasn't oblivious to the fact that his best friend had clearly been aroused by the embrace. By _Jim_.

Bones pulled up Jim's sleeves without warning. “I brought disinfectant for the scratches on your arms."

"I didn't say anything about scratches," Jim mumbled, not looking into his eyes.

"Didn't have to," Bones muttered. "I saw some peeking through."

Jim nodded, allowing Bones access to his arms. Jim's face burned when he saw flecks of blood, Bones giving him a look when he saw them, too.

Had he really scratched that hard?

"Don't even think about apologizing," Bones scowled, still looking at him. "It's not your fault. Okay?"

"Fine," Jim whispered, preparing himself when Bones held the disinfectant over his arm.

"It may sting," Bones said, voice gentler than before.

Still, Jim winced, Bones practically dousing his arms the disinfectant and then patting them dry. Next, Bones took out a smaller sized dermal regenerator. Jim barely held back a surprised flinch, feeling dread just looking at it.

"I'd rather use this than wait for them to heal by themselves, so we can apply the cream you need," Bones explained. "Hold still. It won't take long, since these scratches are small."

Jim said nothing, but he didn't watch Bones as he worked. He'd had enough of the regenerators for one day and didn't like the feeling it gave him.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Bones said roughly, a moment later when he was done. He set the regenerator aside and pulled Jim's sleeves down to his wrists.

"For what?" Jim rasped, feeling a slight ache in his throat. Teasing him?

"The scratches. For not having my PADD handy when you woke up. I left it in the house by mistake."

Oh. Jim sighed, nodded once, and pretended not to care too much.

"This is medicated cream I brought along for these side effects. We'll need to reapply before you go to bed." Bones rubbed the cream on Jim's arms, looking up at Jim as he finished. "You can stay here if you'd like to wait for us, or maybe you'd like to meet us in the living room. We'll be right in."

Jim's chest squeezed, disappointed he couldn't go outside. More disappointed that he'd lost an intimate moment with Bones.

Bones hesitated. "Your shirt's on the counter."

"I know," Jim whispered, tight-lipped. He'd already seen it there.

"I'll be—"

"I know," Jim interrupted more forcibly than he’d intended.

Bones sighed, glancing sideways at Jim.

"What?" Jim asked, voice thin.

"This," he said.

Bones leaned over and kissed his forehead.

Jim closed his eyes, warmth spreading throughout his body as he leaned into the kiss. It was nice, assertive but not overly aggressive. It was very different than anything Jim had ever experienced. He'd kissed passionately a multitude of times in his life, but this was more personal than all of them combined.

Everything about this kiss calmed Jim. It was safe, Bones was safe, and Jim needed safe more than anything else.

Bones lingered, lips pressed upon Jim's forehead, his hand cupping his face in a light caress. The safe moment lasted much longer than Jim had hoped, and he lost sense of time, an entirely different sensation than before filling his body. This was contentment for him, it was a respite from everything else he was dealing with. After a few more seconds, the warmth faded. Slightly dazed, he waited a little longer before finally opening his eyes. His breath caught.

Bones was gone. He'd left so quietly, Jim hadn't even noticed. When the scent of Nora's garden wafted his way, replacing any trace of Bones, Jim realized that Bones had just stepped through the kitchen door and onto the porch.

Jim was truly alone.

He let out a half-groan, half-cry. This dance they were doing was exhausting. But it wasn't like they really could discuss their relationship right now. He couldn't tear Bones away from Jojo. He had to be content with the messages Bones sent him. Bones had to be content sending messages to Jim, but then also, only receiving them when Jim was up to giving him a message, himself.

As Jim pulled the shirt over his head, the front door chimed. He frowned, glancing through the door to see if Bones had heard.

Bones sat on the porch steps, back to Jim. Jojo hung on him, her arms around his neck, stray hairs from her ponytail tossed by the wind. Nora stood apart, clipping a bush. None of them looked concerned about the visitor at the front door.

Jim cracked the back door just enough to slip his shoulder and head through. "Bones, there's someone..." Jim's voice trailed off, caught up in the picture the McCoys made.

Bones turned his head, watching his daughter. A carefree look filled Bones' eyes. Jim couldn't even remember when he'd last seen Bones look like that, if ever. He held his breath, Bones chuckling at something Jojo said. He leaned forward, eyes twinkling and pulled Jojo onto his lap with all the gusto of a loving father.

Jim could tell from here what Bones was planning. Sure enough, Jojo didn't see what was coming. She exploded into a fit of giggles as her father tickled her mercilessly. Nora stood in her garden, face beaming, looking like an angel watching over them both.

Jim smiled, wishing he had a camera to capture the moment for Bones. He decided his comm would do and turned just as the front door chimed a second time. Jim sighed, tapping his hand against the door. He hated to break up the McCoys' moment. And maybe he didn't have to. He felt more like himself, more than able to answer a damn door. Maybe he should just go ahead and take care of things for Nora and Bones. He may not be able to do much, but he could handle this.

He closed the door as quietly as he could, relieved when none of them realized he'd even been in the doorway. Making his way to the front of the house, Jim realized belatedly that he wasn't wearing shoes. He didn't have time to get them if he wanted to answer the door before the visitor left, so he resigned himself to looking like a man who didn't have it all together.

He reached the entryway, hand on the door. As soon as it opened, Jim wished, at the very least, that he'd given the view screen a look to see who was standing on the welcome mat.

Jim came face-to-face with a dark haired, broad shouldered man no less than six foot three and built like Jim's head of security. His face handsome, he dressed with class, but the suit was a little much for a visit on the front porch. The man's good looks disappeared when his mouth drew up into a lazy sneer, eyes passing over Jim indifferently.

The raw truth of his ill health hit Jim like never before. Instinct told him this visitor was a real piece of work. Instinct told him to act like he was confident as hell before the man even opened his mouth. If he ever had to bluff, it was now.

"Leonard's busy, I take it?" The man drew himself up, adding another inch to his height, eyes narrowing down at Jim.

"It depends on who's asking," Jim replied in a hoarse voice, sounding bored. He made a point to yawn and cover his mouth, looking casually past the man to his hovercar.

Which looked suspiciously like the same one Jocelyn owned.

A cold feeling washed over him. This had to be the boyfriend. The boyfriend Bones knew nothing about.

The man chuckled darkly. "Treadway. Clay. I have something for Joanna. Eleanora spoke with Jocelyn about it earlier."

Jim arched a brow, glancing down at the man's large and strong but oddly manicured hands. Treadway held a cloth tote bag, making no effort to give it to him.

"Well, Treadway. _Clay_. _Leonard_ is very busy," Jim stressed quietly, shrugging. "He's spending time with his daughter. I'd hate to interrupt their time together, as short as it is already. Wouldn't you?" Jim added, inwardly flinching when his voice cracked and faded.

Treadway smugly looked down at him. "You're clearly not as strong as you once were and forget yourself. Why don't just step aside like a weaker man would and let me in."

Weaker man? Dammit, why couldn't Jim's voice have returned a little sooner? His body begin to cooperate with him a little faster? "Leonard isn't available," Jim whispered heatedly.

"I'd like to speak with him," Treadway answered, tone cool.

"Sorry, but he can't come to the door. I'll take that to Jojo," Jim asserted, words scratching at the air like a thin branch dragging along the road.

"I'd much rather to give it to her myself," Treadway said, stepping forward, already towering over Jim.

Over Jim's dead body. This man would spoil absolutely everything Bones was enjoying about today. And Jojo, how did Jojo even deal with someone like this dating her mother? No wonder she didn't mention his name or the part he played in her mother's life. This man oozed manipulation and control.

"No," Jim gritted. "I'll take it."

"I'd like to see Joanna, so I can let Joce know she's okay." Treadway's smile came forced, showing off perfect white teeth. _Too_ perfect.

"Of course she's okay," Jim replied, voice cracking again but somehow managing a smooth smile. His anger stirred that Treadway would use Jojo to get around him. "She's with her father and grandmother, two people who love her."

"This is a massive waste of time. You know I could go right past you," Treadway laughed, edging even closer to Jim.

"Now? Yeah, that's pretty obvious, isn't it, Sherlock," Jim deadpanned. "Sure you could easily push me aside, though it would be rather rude. And cowardly, with me being sick and all." Jim leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. "But maybe that doesn't bother you, being a coward. It's the easy way out. Why don't you come back in two months and try," he challenged as much as he could in his rasping voice.

The man's eyes flickered with anger. "Oh, that won't be necessary. Joanna won't be visiting this home in two months, let alone ever again."

Jim didn't bat an eye. "Something tells me you may be wrong about that," he said quietly, tilting his head and rubbing his chin in faked thought. "Huh, I'm surprised that Jocelyn would date someone who doesn't mind being both stupid _and_ a coward. That's not like her."

Treadway's face turned to stone as he stared at him, Jim getting the impression that he could very likely and very soon launch a punch.

Jim stared back, unafraid, not moving a muscle. Maybe he was being stupid, himself, for baiting this man. Then again, he never really thought about the consequences in the heat of the moment because he usually was right. Not only that, but how else were Jocelyn and her boyfriend going to know that at least one person was going to be fighting against them for Jojo? If it meant that he'd get a black eye for it, so be it.

"Jocelyn was right about you," Treadway finally said, lips curling into another snarl. "You have a smart mouth."

Treadway clenched his hand into a tight fist. Jim braced himself just as another craft pulled up beside Treadway's hovercar.

Treadway looked behind him, cursing under his breath when he saw the craft. He dropped the bag at Jim's feet like it was on fire.

Eyes piercing Jim to his spot, Treadway leaned forward. The man's hot breath brushed Jim's ear, and Jim froze. "I'd be watching your back if I were you. You may be Leonard's _friend_ , but he can't always be around to protect you. We will find out what he did, _Captain_."

Treadway spun around and strode down the front porch steps before Jim could even comprehend that he'd just been threatened. He blinked, heart skipping several beats as he saw a familiar figure get out of the second craft and send Treadway a heated glare in passing.

Jim stared straight at the newest visitor until he came to the top of the steps. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Jim's rasp was thinner than ever. "You have incredible timing, Spock. I really didn't want a black eye today."

He couldn't believe Spock was here. He rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn't seeing things. His first must have done anything he could to get away.

"I sense your gratitude, Captain." Spock nodded, but turned to stand shoulder-to-shoulder beside Jim so that he, too, could observe Treadway. "Have I correctly assessed that the man who both moved in too close to you and spoke in your ear threatened you?"

"You have, Spock," Jim said, feeling faint. He forced himself to remain upright until Treadway's craft turned out of the driveway.

"Who is he, Jim?"

"Ass. Hole." Jim muttered, slumping against the door. He ran a shaking hand over his sweaty brow. "That's who."

"I find that to be a rather curious yet generous name for him, Captain," Spock said swiftly.

"It is, isn't it?" Jim groaned, letting his head hang. "Otherwise known as Jocelyn's fucking boyfriend, Clay Tread—"

The door behind Jim and supporting his weight began to open. He jerked up, losing his balance. Spock grabbing his arm, steadying him first, then letting go.

Bones found Jim, eyes wide and frantic. "Good God, man, I've been looking all over for you," Bones cried out, grabbing him by the shoulders, looking him over. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Why the hell are you even out here?"

"Bones, I'm fine," Jim assured him, though his thin voice said otherwise. "I didn't want to disturb you, so I answered the door."

"You answered the...what were you thinkin'? Never mind, let's just get you inside." Bones halted, mouth dropping open as his gaze finally fell on Spock. He dropped his hands to his sides. "Spock. What...how did...you didn't mention coming to Atlanta."

Bones narrowed his eyes, Jim unsurprised by the accusation in his friend's voice.

"He came to see me," he said swiftly, answering for Spock. He didn't want Bones to assume that Spock came to Atlanta for anyone else but Jim.

"Then I'm glad you're here, Spock. Who was at the door?" Bones said, frowning down at the bag at Jim's feet. He leaned down and pulled out Jojo's pajamas which were visible looking from above. He held his daughter's clothing in his hands, expression confused. "Joce?"

"No, it wasn't Joce," Jim whispered slowly.

"Who else would've dropped this off for Jojo, Jim?" Bones asked with a roll of his eyes.

Jim exchanged a glance with Spock, hating that he'd be the one to tell Bones. Spock's mouth thinned and he stepped closer to them both.

"Jim?" Bones said, hesitating.

"Treadway," Jim said quietly.

Bones stared at him, expression wary. "Who?"

Jim hated to say it, because he was almost never wrong about Bones' reactions to things. And this was going to be even more difficult because of one other, very important reason.

He was almost never wrong about first impressions, either.

"Jim?" Bones repeated, voice drawn, a tight whisper.

"Treadway," Jim repeated. "Clay Treadway."

He took a shallow breath of the air thickening between them, watching Bones carefully.

"Jocelyn's new boyfriend."

And then, the blade fell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small note. I deviated from existing canon for Clay Treadway, including his profession. So expect new things in regards to him, with just about everything.


	8. we'll stop starving ourselves, thinking we can't heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uber excited about sharing this particular chapter. But also nervous. It's a big one. ;0 I really hope you enjoy it. It begins right where we left off at the end of the last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you, MissBAMF, for taking the time to beta read this chapter. Not only that, but for challenging me to add a few things I wouldn't have otherwise! You have such a knack for making writers think outside the box. Thank you!!!

As soon as the words “Jocelyn’s new boyfriend” left Jim’s lips, he wished he could take them back. It would have been better if he'd bitten his tongue and played dumb from the beginning. But he hadn't, and now, things simmered just beneath the surface.

Jim and Spock stared at Bones. He stared back at them, looking lost. It was a look Jim had never seen on the doctor before. He was pretty damn sure he never wanted to see it on Bones again.

"Joce has a boyfriend?" Bones echoed.

Jim barely controlled the annoying urge to shuffle his feet. He may have thwarted Treadway’s plan, but he couldn't sugar coat the truth. Neither would he elaborate beyond what was necessary. Bones appeared even more confused. Worse yet, looking at Jim and Spock for the answers to a complicated, private situation that they shouldn't have learned about before Bones himself.

He should yank Bones right back into the house, but he'd lost too much strength to manhandle anyone. He should've also waited to open his damn mouth until they were inside, but he'd apparently lost his sense and clarity along with the kilos and muscle mass, too.

He just wasn't who he'd been two months ago. He was used to grueling hours with a therapist, not voluntarily hitting the gym. He was lucky to finish one full meal on a good day, a far cry from the balanced diet Bones enforced when they were on the Enterprise. Instead of enjoying a few beers with Bones on shore leave, Jim was spending his days trying not to have some PTSD episode.

He wasn't that Jim Kirk anymore, the one to whom Pike handed a second chance. And because he wasn't the same man, in a matter of seconds, things had become exactly what he'd feared.

"Yeah," Jim said quietly.

"But...she never said..." Bones stopped, expression confused. "He was here?"

Before Jim could offer a simple explanation, a small gust of wind swept over the men on the porch, the cool breeze reminding him that he was a vulnerable patient undergoing an intensive drug treatment. A storm was coming. He could smell it in the air now. He squinted up at the sky to see for himself.

Dark clouds loomed above, heavy and swollen. Despite the breeze it wasn't chilly, but every hair on his arms stood on end as if they were in Iowa, where the leaves turned and a sweater was necessary on walks. Not here, where the sunlight was sweet as Georgia's peaches, hitting you on the face, making you want to stay forever.

Making you fall in love with Southern doctors.

Jim shivered and rubbed his arms, instantly kicking himself for doing so. The last thing he needed Bones to do was to notice anything out of the ordinary and jump to conclusions.

Jim glanced down at himself and almost snorted. His attire— his appearance— was out of the ordinary. His toes peeked out from under the hem of his baggy sweatpants. His hands were shaking so badly he really didn't know what to do with them. So he did nothing but shift his body, the hem covering his feet just enough that maybe Bones would miss the fact that he was barefoot — and ignore his fucking tremors.

He couldn't deny it had been stupid to come out here so unprepared, and in more ways than one. But he'd had no choice. Having no shoes was the least of his worries, but he knew it would be at the top of Bones' list if he noticed. Right along with everything else. Bacteria, exposed skin, the possibility of getting a cut and an infection. He'd heard all of it before, Bones detailing absolutely every risk several times over to him, including risks that Jim hadn't even thought of — like his feet.

If Bones knew the bigger risk he'd had taken… he'd never hear the end of it.

Jim swallowed. "He was, but he left."

"Well, why didn't ya invite him in?" Bones asked exasperatedly.

Jim worried. As strange as it sounded, it was the first time since the divorce, at least to his knowledge, that Jocelyn had what looked to be a serious relationship. It was the first time that Bones had ever had to deal with another man, possibly even another father figure, being close to Jojo. If Bones wasn't questioning the fact that Jocelyn had a boyfriend, he was sidestepping the real issue.

"Jojo needed this time with you today, Bones," Jim said quietly, peering up through his lashes. "Without interruption."

Jim immediately got the impression that it'd been the wrong thing to say.

Bones' eyes glinted with emotion, nostrils flaring. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but clamped it shut a second later, muscle ticking at his jawline.

Guilt pricked at Jim. Maybe it'd been wrong to say, but it'd felt so right. He could just imagine what Bones was thinking, and it wasn't good. Jim had made a decision on behalf of his best friend, and Bones didn't like it. He'd made a call, like he always did. Guilt or no guilt, he'd do the same thing again. Treadway’d had more than just running an errand for Jocelyn in mind. He'd clearly wanted to crash Bones’ visit with Jojo.

Like Jim would ever just stand aside and let that happen. Treadway's words coming to mind, he decided he'd never back down if it meant Bones' happiness. Even if Jim was a lesser man.

Without a word, Bones turned to Spock, signaling he wasn’t satisfied with Jim's answer and thus, dismissing it. "Spock, why didn't you invite him in?" Bones repeated after a pause.

Jim gritted his teeth. If he'd been at the top of his game, he would have been able to convince Bones that nothing was wrong. It was his own damn fault that he hadn't.

"I arrived when Mr. Treadway was leaving. Therefore, I was unable to make that request," Spock articulated. "However, I believe that Jim did not invite him in for the very reason he explained to you. He was concerned Mr. Treadway's arrival would have interrupted and thereby shortened the time you had previously set aside with Joanna."

"I believe you're telling me the truth, Spock, but there’s something about this that doesn't seem quite right to me.” Bones furrowed his brow.

"Bones, it's the truth," Jim whispered.

Bones' eyes passed over him warily. "Did he say anything? Have a message from Jocelyn? Need to see Jojo? For God's sakes, Jim, I've never met the man, let alone even know Jocelyn was dating someone!"

"Bones, I know, and maybe you can ask Jocelyn about it when you see her," Jim offered in his rasp, using all of his self-control to act natural, to ease the new desperation he heard reflected in Bones' voice.

"I'd like to know now, from you, Jim," Bones' eyes narrowing, they perused the length of Jim's body before settling on his hands.

Jim swallowed harshly. Shit. His tremors had begun as soon as Treadway had turned his back and stalked off the porch to his craft. He was honestly a little surprised Bones hadn't noticed until now, but the man _had_ been preoccupied.

Bones stared at him, a harsh light in his eyes. "Jim?"

Jim wiped his cursed, sweaty hands on his shirt before pulling them from sight.

"Your hands," Bones said, voice tight and accusatory.

"Uh, yeah. Well...it's just..." Jim began, wracking his brain for an excuse.

"It's just what?" Bones stepped closer, eyes firm and lined around the edges in a way Jim had never seen before. “The tremors don't start unless they're triggered, Jim. Triggered by something you find difficult to handle. Or, something that reminds you of..." Bones voice trailed off, more than likely to spare Jim the mention of the damn warp core.

A lump lodged itself in Jim’s throat. When had he become this sensitive to so many damn things?

"Spock's visit came as a surprise, I guess," Jim said hoarsely, not swallowing until he'd given a weak excuse.

"Spock is your first officer. His visit wouldn't have triggered them." Bones observed correctly, brow hiked higher than Jim had ever seen.

"Bones..." Jim's voice faded, whatever courage he'd had disappearing right along with it.

Bones' chin lifted as if daring Jim to lie to him again. And dammit, Jim wasn't sure he _could_ lie again. Bones wasn't going to let this go, not when he'd sensed something was off.

The tension thickening between them, Jim couldn't help it. He succumbed to his nerves like the weaker man Treadway had accused him of being. He took one unsteady step backwards. He would've taken another one, but he brushed up against Spock, who stood at the edge of the top step.

When had he become an open book? When had a simple conversation become impossible? He could stand up to a hulk of a man, but not his best friend?

"Jim, I need to know what happened," Bones said, words laced with an air of authority that made Jim feel about four years old, caught red—handed digging in the cookie jar.

"The guy didn't do anything," Jim's voice cracked. "Ask Spock. Treadway didn't even touch me. Nothing happened," he repeated.

Bones glanced at Spock, again making Jim feel that he was a child. "Spock? He didn't touch Jim?"

Spock inclined his head at Jim. "Again, the captain is being truthful."

Jim held his breath at the close call which nearly ruined their charade. He didn't want Spock to lie, but this was cutting it close.

Bones sighed. "If you, as my patient, Jim, were affected by this man, if he somehow triggered your tremors, I need to know why so I can help you. And make sure it doesn't happen again. Possibly going as far as to inform Jocelyn that her boyfriend can't stop over because he'll upset you." Bones crossed his arms, peering down his nose at Jim.

Bones' authoritative voice a little intimidating, he instinctively steeled himself. Something else was coming, but he didn't have a clue as to what it could be.

"But, since 'nothing happened'," Bones continued, "you both won't mind if I check the footage from the security camera that my mama had put in this year. Just to make sure."

Jim felt his face drain of color.

God, _no_. Footage? His heart sank. He didn't want Bones seeing footage of any sort. Why hadn't he thought of that possibility? Had he known about Nora's security, he would’ve.... he would’ve what? Backed down? The idea was just ridiculous. He'd do the same exact thing and risk his own damn face being punched in by Treadway's massive hands.

Bones blinked his eyes several times, as if gauging Jim's reaction. He exhaled a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So something _did_ happen," Bones said tightly, eyes clenched shut.

Jim bit his lip. There was no way he could get out of this one.

He'd try, anyway. "Bones, I swear—"

"Get in the house, Jim," Bones gritted. He dropped his hand, shooting Jim a glare.

"What?" Jim rasped, in reflex straightening his shoulders so hard that his muscles pulled at the still sensitive area in his back. It didn't stop there. His back twitched, and unable to suppress the pain shooting up his spine, Jim groaned. "Umph. Bones—"

"Don't 'Bones' me when you're standing out here in your bare feet, not well," Bones continued, voice rising dangerously, a disappointment pouring from him that Jim _had_ never felt before.

He honestly had felt stronger, up until now. A steady roaring began in Jim's ears, requiring painstaking effort to focus on anything else. "But, I...noth—"

"You shouldn't even be out here! Dammit, Jim!” Bones shouted over the roaring. "Get in the house!”

Jim's mouth fell open just a fraction before he forced it shut. In all the years that they'd known each other, after all the craziness they'd both experienced, Bones had never yelled at Jim like this. Although he knew not to take it personally — the man's stress level was high as a skyscraper — he couldn't help but feel a prick of hurt.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock said, a small frown crossing his face.

"Spock," Bones snapped. "Don't."

The breath squeezing out of Jim, he could hardly think clearly enough witnessing the small exchange. But he did realize this. Bones had basically told Spock to keep his nose out of his business.

Jim loved and respected his best friend too much to agree with that. All he wanted was Bones to trust Spock. To trust _Jim_ , to know he had done what he thought was best, just like he always did. It had been the best thing. If not for Bones, then for Jojo.

Jim felt his world spinning entirely out of his control, the last bit that he could control—gone. This was not what he'd planned. This wasn't supposed to happen. All Jim had done was keep Treadway from stepping foot into this house and causing problems. It shouldn't have caused a different problem altogether.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock began again, ignoring Bones' request and momentarily pulling the doctor's formidable scowl away from Jim and onto himself. "Jim acted on your behalf, and in the best manner that he could."

Jim held his breath. Bones seemed to be actually listening to Spock.

"No harm was done," Spock continued, his voice the softest Jim had ever heard it to be. It took Jim a few extra seconds to realize that it was for Bones' sake, not Jim's. The thought comforted him far more than anything else could have at that moment. "The captain intended only to spare you."

Bones frowned, hesitating. "No harm was done?"

"That is correct."

Bones' gaze pierced Spock as if prodding for more information. "I'll be the judge of that. He shouldn't have put himself in the line of fire right now, not for anyone, including me!"

Jim hadn't expected this reaction from Bones at all. In fact, even though he _knew_ this was Bones stuffing his emotions to deal with the situation, it blindsided him completely.

He stood, wanting the world to swallow him whole.

Bones turned back to Jim, who felt the brunt of his concentrated anger in one pointed finger. "It's not worth your health, Jim, or your life! I'm not going to let you throw that away again because of me! Not if I can help it! It's not worth it!"

Jim flinched. He _had_ given up everything for Bones, for Spock, for his crew. But, that wasn't what hurt the most. It was that Bones didn't think it'd been worth it. Then. Now. It didn't matter. To Jim, it was all the same.

Bones' words had practically discounted what he'd done...in mere seconds.

It's why Jim had gone into the core in the first place. It's why he'd kicked the damn thing in place, their names flashing in his head each time he'd grunted, every time he'd kicked, until he'd succeeded. Bones — _everyone_ — was why he'd fucking went and died. He'd died — and Bones didn't think it'd been worth it?

Vision swarming, Jim's knees gave out.

A pair of hands caught him before his body connected with the hard surface of the porch. The same hands eased him down onto his knees, which was where he'd wanted to go and the only way his body seemed to be capable of bending. Like a helpless child, he leaned forward into the space in front of him.

"Dammit," a heated whisper brushed his ear. "I shouldn't have..." There was a sigh, another set of hands, these ones ghosting over his face. “I'm sorry, Jim. So sorry.”

Someone was sucking in gasps of air, and only when something took hold of his chest like a vise did he realize the pathetic, wheezing sounds came from his own mouth.

The same hands stroked his cheeks over and over, paired with desperate murmurings. "Jimbo, I'm sorry. I...wasn't thinkin'. I should've been. Jim? You're okay. You're safe and we gotcha."

"Doctor McCoy..."

Another ragged sigh sounded right by Jim's ear, the drawl that followed thick with emotion. "I know, Spock. I know. This is all my fault," the doctor muttered. "And of all people, I should've known. Jim, you gotta breathe, kid. I need to get my medkit—"

A sob rose from Jim's chest, cutting Bones off. He bent over his knees, heels of his hands digging into his eyes, wondering if he did that hard enough, he could wipe out every single thing connected to that dreadful day. Wondering if to succeed, he'd have to wipe out most of himself, too. At least, if that happened, he'd be able to go a fucking day without having an accident or flipping out.

He'd be able to move past dying. Wouldn't that be better for everyone?

"Jim," a voice called softly.

Jim reached out in front of him and grabbed the shoulder of the person talking to him. It wasn't the thicker muscle of Bones. This was slender muscle. In fact... he lifted his head and squinted to discover Spock regarding him silently.

Jim blinked. Where was Bones? Why'd he leave? Not that it mattered. Except it did. Bones should be with Jojo, not out here taking care of Jim. It was like his new fucking mantra. _Bones and Jojo, not Jim._ He clung to Spock's shoulder with that one hand, helpless to his constant wheezing. This was just what he needed. Some goddamn panic attack. He allowed his head to drop, at the same time seeing something that scared the living daylights out of him.

He jerked his head up, blinking and staring at Spock in horror.

Glass. Glass was between them. Thick, immovable glass, Spock's hand pressed up against it, Jim's hand against it from the other side.

His stomach rolled. No, no no. This couldn't be happening again. His chest filled with an unexplainable ache. Hand shaking, Jim banged on the barrier once. It was all he could do, and manage his fear. Spock's mouth moved but Jim heard nothing except the roaring in his ears.

Was he back in the core? He couldn't be. That was impossible, wasn't it? This didn't make any sense but it was as real as day to Jim. He pressed his hand into the glass as hard as he could, unaware that his fingers dug through Spock's shirt and into the Vulcan's shoulders, leaving marks that would last for hours until Bones fixed it. A coldness pierced Jim when it became clear he could do nothing to break the glass and get to his friend. He gasped, leaning forward anyway, pain shooting down his wrist. He needed to get to Spock, not because he wanted the comfort when he died. But because at the very end, when Jim breathed his last, all he'd wanted to do was comfort _Spock_.

"Spock, the glass," he blurted out, confused. Wouldn't Spock want to try to get rid of it? Go for help?

Spock formed words with his mouth he couldn't understand, soundless, over and over, until Jim thought he was going crazy. When fear seeped into the brown eyes of his first officer, Jim decided he really must be losing it. Spock finally reached a hand up, somehow his hand going right through the barrier. He put his hand on Jim's shoulder. Strangely enough, Spock bowed his head, closed his eyes, leaving Jim to deal with the glass alone.

A whimper escaped him. He pulled his own hand away slowly, watching it retract effortlessly through the thick glass. He turned his hand over and looked at it in confusion. It'd been on Spock's shoulder, and...not the glass? How could that be? He wanted to ask him, but Spock was...busy. Jim clenched his eyes shut, too. He felt so alone, so fucking alone. Spock was ignoring him. Jim didn't understand why. He didn't have time to think on it long before a warmth spread over him, beginning in his mind and continuing down to his feet. When the warmth enveloped him, he looked up just in time to see the glass beginning to dissolve before his eyes.

Something clicked in his memory about Vulcans. Was this Spock's doing after all?

“What did… you do?” Jim asked brokenly. He didn't know what to do with all of this, having experienced something this powerful from a Vulcan only once before.

“What you would have done for me, had you the ability,” Spock murmured, only Jim wasn't sure he actually _heard_ the words.

By the time Bones knelt beside him again, the glass had completely disappeared. He sat back on his haunches, dazed and breathing shallowly. The discomfort from his catheter demanded his attention but he did everything he could to ignore it.

Maybe he was truly, finally, hopelessly losing it. This meant...it wasn't Bones’ therapy. It was all Jim. And maybe if he could just man up, he could get over this. He got over things like this before, not only as an adult, but also as a teenager. He could do it now, couldn't he?

Bones' eyes were concerned as he watched him. "Dammit," the sound warbled from Bones mouth. Spock wasn't there anymore. Instead, Bones' arm snaked around the base of Jim's skull, warm across his neck. Jim shook his head, trying to understand, willing his brain to catch up with the activity around him. "Shh, buddy. It's okay. I gotcha. I have something for you. You'll feel a pinch."

Jim willingly pressed into Bones' shoulder, though he wasn't sure this — _Bones_ — was even helping. Every caress served only as a reminder of Jim's failure to hold his shit together, emphasized his dependence upon others. Every touch a reminder that Bones — and also, Spock — had had to deal with his death, too.

He barely registered the prick of his neck, hating himself for making a scene — _again_. Couldn't he just pull himself together, just for once? For his friends? He didn't think standing up to Treadway counted as pulling himself together. Pure luck didn't count.

"Doctor, as I was saying, I think we have overextended our time on your mother's front porch," Spock said in a gentle voice, words curling around Jim’s thoughts.

"Yeah. We have. I saw Nosey Nancy over there coming home from work, and at least one car slowed down in front of the house," Bones said, voice muffled. Lips brushed Jim's cheek so faintly that he thought he'd imagined it at first, and hands fell away from his face. "But I don't give a damn about that right now."

Another whimper slipped from Jim's throat at the loss, the warmth from Bones' touch fading from his shoulder and face. He wanted to ask Bones to come back, so they could embrace like they had in the kitchen, this time actually kiss like they wanted. He wanted that again, to be near Bones intimately, to explore what they had together. He wanted it so badly the back of his eyes began to burn.

But...this should be about Bones, and his daughter, and Jocelyn. And despite the care Jim needed, not Jim.

Recalling his mantra, Jim bit his lip to keep from asking Bones for anything.

"We better go in," Bones murmured.

Jim swallowed, somewhat dazed but at the same time realizing that Spock's hands supported him from behind and helped pull him to his feet. He wasn't entirely certain, but Spock also probably sensed a lot from Jim. Maybe even too much.

Jim rubbed his eyes, also wondering why, in an instant, his panic attack seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"Just give me a minute," he whispered, kneading his forehead.

When no one answered right away, he decided it may have sounded too much like an order in a situation where he really didn't have control.

"Alright, we can do that," Bones said quietly.

Jim blinked, opening his eyes, surprised to see Bones' stricken expression, those hazel eyes strangely red and wet as he stood in front of Jim. Bones ran a hand over his face, inadvertently covering it, obviously trying to collect himself.

Amazingly, Jim already had.

Confidence filling him, he straightened his spine. He also seemed to have gained a burst of energy, but was smart enough not to test it by moving too quickly and hurting himself. Besides, Spock still gripped Jim’s arms, a solid fixture behind him.

"Jim, I'm sorry," Bones' voice broke. The doctor carded a hand through his hair, eyes pained and beseeching. "It'd be best if you go to your room. After I take a quick look at what happened for myself, I'll examine you and make sure you didn't acquire some goddamn germ that could knock out your entire immune system."

Welcoming Bones' sense of command, Jim nodded. "I'll wait for you there," he said, voice paper thin.

"Jim..."

"Bones, not now," he said and set his jaw. The doctor looked like he was about to come apart. Jim wasn't going to be the reason for Bones actually losing his shit, though it seemed they were all nearly there. Jim, for sure.

He took a shaky breath, looking at no one, though he could sense Spock's eyes boring into his back as he broke away from his hold.

He couldn't imagine what Spock was thinking. Had he ever seen the doctor so distraught one second, but the next so damn commanding that Jim didn't think twice about obeying?

Had he ever seen Jim lose it?

Had he ever seen Bones lose it?

Had he ever seen Bones touch Jim's face and then kiss him?

Had he ever seen two people so close, yet so far away from each other like Bones and Jim were?

Jim moved forward with ease, Spock and Bones following. All was silent, hinting that Nora and Jojo were still outside. The door closed behind him and Jim made for his room. He left Bones and Spock right inside the doorway. When he was alone in his room, he finally answered the questions for himself.

Probably not.

And then he asked himself another question. Could Spock help them fix these things? And another. Could Spock stop Treadway and Jocelyn from taking Jojo away from Bones?

He sank onto his bed. Though his nerves were on end, he felt a different type of fatigue, all in his mind. He was tired, Bones was tired, and Jim simply refused to think that Spock couldn't do those things...and then some. Because they were three now, and in Jim's opinion, that counted for a hell of a lot.

 

oOo

 

"He hasn't had one of those episodes for a while," McCoy remarked absently, staring straight ahead. He'd watched Jim the entire way down the hallway, guilt free, to make sure he made it on his own alright.

"They have mostly correlated with the drug therapy?" Spock asked.

"Yes," McCoy said, scowling. Dammit, this was just one more thing to add to the growing list of ways he kept hurting the man that he —

"He will not hold this against you," Spock said quietly.

Something about his tone made McCoy pause. He'd question Spock about it later. It probably was nothing, and they had more pressing matters to discuss. As much as he wanted Jim's forgiveness for railing at him, he needed to know who this Treadway really was and what he did to Jim to cause the tremors.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if I can say the same...yet." McCoy gave Spock a sideways glance, catching the Vulcan's quirked brow. "It probably would be best for you to watch the footage with me," he added, scowl deepening, "I have a feeling I'll need some clarification as to why in God's name you both attempted to sweep this, whatever this is, under the rug."

He wasn't surprised to learn that Jim tried to pull a stunt like this. Spock, however, was a different story.

"It will reveal something which Jim never intended you to find out," Spock said, tone unapologetic, "in hopes to spare you additional, undue stress."

“I had a feeling you'd say that,” McCoy muttered. His blood boiling again, he jerked his head to the direction of his mother's office. "Follow me."

McCoy was grateful for Spock's wordlessness the entire way to the office. He didn't know whether to strangle Jim or kiss him senseless when he saw him next. Jim, the man who would rather get hurt himself than allow anything to hurt McCoy and Jojo. The reckless fool, answering the door of a house that didn't even belong to him, going out on the damn porch, talking to a man owning some invisible part to this custody mess. McCoy was sure of that even before the video began playing. There had to be a reason Joce had never mentioned Treadway, yet decided to send him to McCoy’s fucking door as a “surprise.”

He didn't offer Spock a seat, but went straight to the computer, typing in the password and then a second to pull up the videofeed. He sat down in the chair beside Spock, and watched.

He began to hate Clay Treadway the moment he stepped on his mama's porch. The man's eyes. His hair. His nose. His mouth. For God’s sakes, even his teeth.

It all was too perfect. _He_ was too goddamn perfect.

" _Leonard's busy, I take it?"_ Treadway asked Jim, eyes narrow and sharp.

God, this man was a giant compared to Jim and his thinner frame.

_"It depends on who's asking."_

McCoy wasn't surprised Jim's first words to this man were a little cold. He also caught the nonchalant way Jim yawned after answering the door. He only yawned like that when he needed to be observant. Sure enough, Jim cast a glance towards the driveway.

McCoy leaned forward, curious. What had he seen? Another person? Another craft? Treadway's craft?

_"Treadway. Clay. I have something for Joanna. Eleanora spoke with Jocelyn about it earlier."_

_"Well, Treadway. **Clay**. **Leonard** is very busy."_

McCoy snorted. That was Jim. Not missing a beat, tossing smart remarks right back at Treadway.

Jim shrugged. " _He's spending time with his daughter. I'd hate to interrupt their time together, as short as it is already. Wouldn't you?"_

Without a doubt, McCoy loved this man, who was so fiercely protective of McCoy and Jojo.

Moistening his lips, McCoy watched Jim’s every move, how they interplayed with Treadway’s actions. It was almost...almost like Jim just knew who he was before the words came out of Treadway’s mouth. In fact, McCoy learned later, after watching the feed once, Treadway never once specified that he was Jocelyn’s boyfriend. It was inferred, but never said.

Then how the hell did Jim even know that he was Joce's boyfriend? When McCoy hadn't even known the man even existed?

Treadway practically sneered at Jim. _"You're clearly not as strong as you once were and forget yourself. Why don't you just step aside like a weaker man would and let me in."_

"Asshole," McCoy muttered, pausing the feed as soon as Treadway finished his verbal attack.

The nerve of that man, degrading Jim, trashing him and his health for having to take the time to recuperate. Underhandedly calling him a _weaker man_. And the insult cut even deeper than that. Who the hell was this guy that Joce even allowed him to be near their daughter? McCoy was so mad he shot out of his seat and cursed repeatedly until Spock ordered him to sit down.

“Sit down,” Spock ordered for a second time.

McCoy glared at Spock. “So that didn't bother you? What the son of a bitch said to Jim’s face?”

“Indeed, it agitates me, doctor," Spock said evenly, as if it didn't, "but there is more to see and Jim waiting for you. Now, if you would proceed.”

“Fine,” McCoy muttered, sitting down so hard it hurt. He started the feed again.

 _"Leonard isn't available,"_ Jim said in strained whisper.

 _"I'd like to speak with him,"_ Treadway's voice was almost chilling.

_"Sorry, but he can't come to the door. I'll take that to Jojo."_

Jim looked brave, but McCoy could hear his voice failing, cracking in a few places. That clearly didn't help matters with Treadway. Jim probably did appear to be but a waif the bigger man could brush away.

 _"I'd much rather give it to her myself,"_ Treadway countered.

" _No_ ," Jim said, voice rough. _"I'll take it._

_"I'd like to see Joanna, so I can let Joce know she's okay."_

Treadway smiled and revealed a brilliant set of teeth, far too perfect to be real. McCoy's hands clenched, stomach churning when he heard Treadway wanted to see Jojo. For Jocelyn's sake, he'd said. He was a manipulating bastard, that's what, and thankfully, Jim wasn't falling for that. Treadway wasn't the father figure McCoy wanted for his sweet daughter, let alone the type of man he wanted to even be around Jojo. What did Joce see in this guy? Why could Jim see something was wrong, but Joce just turn a blind eye towards this son of a bitch?

 _"Of course she's okay,"_ Jim said. _"She's with her father and grandmother, two people who love her."_

McCoy was too tense to smile at Jim's obvious love for his daughter.

 _"This is a massive waste of time. You know I could go right past you,"_ Treadway said, laughing loudly.

"Goddammit. This man just doesn't want to give," McCoy said in disgust, holding his breath as Treadway moved closer to Jim. When he saw the impassive expression on Jim's face, he could tell that Treadway had pushed all the wrong buttons.

_"Now? Yeah, that's pretty obvious, isn't it, Sherlock. Sure you could easily push me aside, though it would be rather rude. And cowardly, with me being sick and all. But maybe that doesn't bother you, being a coward. It's the easy way out. Why don't you come back in two months and try."_

McCoy almost regretted watching the rest, finding himself so mad at Jim he saw red. Jim, stubbornly fighting back with the only weapon he had at this time — his mouth. Taunting a man who probably bench presses more than the two of them put together. When he was far from being invincible.

He was purposefully egging him on, but why?

When Jim began to provoke the bigger man, Spock shifted in his seat, the first sign that he was also affected. A small part of McCoy wondered if it reminded Spock of the time Jim provoked him on the bridge during the Narada attacks. As far as he knew, Jim's goal then had been to emotionally compromise Spock. He had no clue as to why Jim had provoked Treadway here. But he'd damn sure ask him when the opportunity presented itself.

 _"Oh, that won't be necessary. Joanna won't be visiting this home in two months, let alone ever again."_ Treadway oozed of confidence.

The same heartache McCoy had felt for weeks now came back full force. His ex-wife and Treadway had to be in on this together.

 _"Something tells me you may be wrong about that,"_ Jim said, rubbing his chin. McCoy truly didn't know anyone braver, anyone more loyal than Jim. " _I'm surprised that Jocelyn would date someone who doesn't mind being both stupid and a coward. That's not like her."_

McCoy briefly closed his eyes. Oh, Jim. He was an idiot, but a brave, self-sacrificing idiot.

McCoy wasn't surprised when Treadway's expression became like stone. His own fear for Jim skyrocketed as the two men stared at each other on the screen.

_"Jocelyn was right about you. You have a smart mouth."_

McCoy gritted his teeth, wanting to wipe off that sneer clean off Treadway's face. When he literally loomed over Jim, McCoy's heart took off racing. Hand poised on his chin, McCoy watched, anxiety rising. Jim and Spock had both said Treadway never touched Jim, but it looked like the bigger man was going to punch the living daylights out of him. He even clenched his hands into fists. At what seemed to be the last second, those actions were halted by a distraction.

Treadway cursed and dropped Jojo's bag. But he wasn't done. Treadway leaned over Jim again. From McCoy's vantage point, it appeared like Jim's foot slipped on the porch when he flinched from the other man ever so slightly.

 _"I'd be watching your back if I were you. You may be Leonard's **friend** , but he can't always be around to protect you. We will find out what he did, **Captain**."_ Treadway finished his threat in a heated voice, spinning away from Jim and striding off the front steps.

McCoy kept watching, but he was in a state of shock. Treadway had actually threatened Jim. Not McCoy, not really, but Jim. As if using Jojo to hurt McCoy wasn't enough, now they had to throw Jim into the mix.

Spock appeared on the screen. McCoy tried not to think of the look of utter relief on Jim's face when he arrived.

Or how close this had been to being an even greater disaster.

"So you were the hero," he managed to say after Spock leaned over and paused the feed. "Thank you."

"Indeed, my arrival provided a timely escape."

McCoy wondered about Jim's assertion, why he was confident that they wouldn't have Jojo, but he was more upset about Jim provoking a man literally twice his size. He almost couldn't believe Jim had increased the taunts, acting as cocky as hell. Treadway _had_ gone way too far at the end. And then there was Jim... just _waiting_ like a sitting duck for that punch they all saw coming, welcoming whatever reaction Treadway would come up with — all for McCoy's sake.

“That motherfucker will never come around this house again,” McCoy gritted, barely keeping his anger under control. How could Jim act like it was nothing? That wasn't nothing. That was a threat that should be reported. Right? They could get a restraining order. They could...

McCoy put his head in his hands and groaned. Wrong. It couldn't be reported. They couldn't get a restraining order. Somehow, the situation would be turned around on them, quite possibly placing Jim in a bad light. Maybe even slamming the door in McCoy's face, cutting him off from Jojo for good. He wouldn't put it pass Joce and this guy to do any of that. And then...the inference that he'd had done something? He didn't want anyone probing around for answers to that.

"We can't report the threat," McCoy whispered, words muffled. "We can't.”

They couldn't chance it.

"If the situation with your daughter is as precarious as I assume it is, I concur," Spock said. "However, you may wish to present your concerns to your ex-wife."

McCoy heaved a sigh, recognizing Spock's hesitance at the end. "Out with it, Spock."

"To what did Mister Treadway refer when he said Joanna would not be visiting this home in two months' time?" Spock asked slowly.

McCoy sighed again. That particular question had been inevitable. Still, he hated that his secret was coming out in the open like this. He'd wanted to tell Jim and Spock of his own accord. But life had a funny way of dealing with things. He was telling Spock first. He never saw that coming.

"You're right to suspect something. Joce wants full custody of Jojo. Also, all rights," he said, voice hollow. He didn't know what he expected from Spock, but the steady look and heavy silence wasn't it. "My lawyer's working on it."

It was a lame explanation, but this sad truth was all he had. The situation was a ticking time bomb. McCoy, the target.

"I see," Spock answered after a short pause. "And Jim is aware of this?"

"He is now," McCoy muttered under his breath, closing the computer program. "He can't do a single thing to help the situation, so I'd rather not discuss it."

"I assume that you will thoroughly explain the situation to Jim so it does not cause him undue stress?" Spock swiftly interjected.

Oh, that was smooth. "Yes," McCoy's shoulders dropped. Of course he would. Especially now that Spock would probably keep asking him if he explained things to Jim — until he did. "I'm sorry that you didn't receive a proper Southern welcome, Spock. If you don't have a place to stay tonight, I'm sure we have room to spare."

Spock's brow rose. McCoy stood. He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. "Jim would want you here. We all do," he added.

"I procured a hotel room, but I am not adverse to your suggestion," Spock said.

"Good," McCoy nodded. "I'll find my mother and we can get you settled."

"It is not necessary." Spock's eyes warmed. "The captain requires your attention. I can wait here, or if you inform me of your mother's location —"

"You'll what? Wander until you find her?" McCoy snorted. "Spock, you're our guest. Come on, I'll show ya the back porch, where Jojo and my mama are most likely enjoying the porch swing and some sweet iced tea," he waved his arm toward the door. "You won't keep me from Jim but another minute."

Jim no doubt suffered under the stress of Treadway, but the effects weren't severe enough to warrant McCoy checking on him immediately. Besides, he'd needed this time apart to get a proper perspective on the situation. He had a sneaking suspicion they both needed these few minutes to calm down.

Before they left the office, Spock stopped him in the doorway. "Are you aware that what is unresolved between you and the captain is nothing that he cannot handle at this time."

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, doctor."

"We haven't discussed what ...what his _death_ did to us, not really, if that's what you mean. But..." McCoy hesitated, glancing at Spock. He wasn't sure what to think when Spock shook his head once. "That's...that's not what you mean...is it?" he asked, faltering, stomach squirming like it'd been tossed violently by waves.

McCoy had kissed Jim’s cheek without thinking. Of course Spock would've seen that.

"It is not." Spock inclined his head, eyes thoughtful.

"So...you mean," McCoy cleared his throat. "Jim and me. That what we feel..."

"Let me be frank. In other words, doctor, I believe what is keeping you and Jim from each other is yourselves," Spock interjected, relieving McCoy of the responsibility to explain the impossible, burgeoning relationship that he and Jim had for himself.

They were the reason they couldn't get together? Although he appreciated Spock's wisdom—it took a weight off his shoulders —the irony wasn't amusing. "It's this way, Spock," he replied, voice catching.

Spock fell beside him, gratefully silent.

As they stepped onto the porch, Nora caught sight of Spock first. She rose from her seat and smiled widely, greeting him with the warmth she'd give a son. “Mr. Spock, what a pleasant surprise.”

McCoy could've sworn Spock had a smile on his face when Jojo's face lit up and she exclaimed," Mr. Spock," with a glee she usually gave Jim. For all the excitement, she still hesitated, not coming up beside their guest. She settled with staring at Spock while her grandmother made him sit in one of the empty chairs.

McCoy finally remembered he held the bag Treadway had dropped by for Jojo. He set it by the door, glad that Spock was the center of attention.

“It's getting late. Surely you're not here to visit just for a few hours,” Nora asked.

“I have arranged four days leave,” Spock said.

“And where do you plan to stay?” Nora asked, eyes sparkling.

“I procured a room—”

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “We have more room than we can deal with here. And I'm sure James and Leonard would enjoy your presence while James recuperates.” She peered up at McCoy. “You did manage to get the okay from your superiors to keep Jim here longer than you originally planned?”

“I did,” McCoy said in relief. He'd received the message earlier, right before he'd left the porch in search of Jim.

“Well, it has worked out better than we'd hoped, hasn't it, Leonard?” she said sweetly.

“Mama,” McCoy began, thinking of Jocelyn’s acts of pure spite.

"Leonard." Her eyes held a gentle warning. “All will be fine,” she said before turning back to Spock.

He just shook his head as the rain came down, accompanied by thunder. He looked up, water spraying on his face as he'd moved to the edge of the porch, away from the clamor of Spock's arrival.

"If ya'll don't mind, we'll just have this part inside," Nora smiled despite the storm’s arrival. "Jojo, honey, why don't you take Mr. Spock into the living room while I clean things up."

Jojo's head bobbed up and down. She stared at Spock as if his ears were a curiosity, peering up at him, practically tripping over her feet as she followed McCoy and Spock back inside. He made a mental note to thank Spock for not making a big deal about Jojo's staring. It wasn't that she was shocked by them. On the contrary. She liked to draw them.

McCoy wiped the water off his face and gently pulled Jojo aside. "I need to talk to your Uncle Jim alone, sweetheart, and then I'll be back. We can watch that movie you like so much." He couldn't help but bend down and give her a extra long hug.

"Okay, daddy," she whispered, her tiny arms squeezing him tightly. "Do you think Mr. Spock would want to watch, too?"

"I'm sure he would," McCoy said, glancing up at Spock.

"Indeed." Spock nodded.

Jojo clapped her hands and darted off into the other room, forgetting Nora's instructions to her. Spock turned to McCoy, one brow arched in question.

McCoy fought a smile. "Help yourself to a seat, Spock. I'm sure she'll be back in a few minutes, no doubt with an armful of stuffed creatures and maybe a pillow." He paused. "Don't take offense. You honestly should be flattered she took off like that. It means she has something on her mind that she wants to include you in."

"I am not offended, and I will be waiting," Spock said.

"I don't think we'll be long," McCoy said decidedly. Lord knows that Jim would be biting at the bit to spend some time with Spock.

"Please, do not hurry on my accord."

Spock's previous words raced through McCoy's mind, and he walked into Jim's bedroom feeling like his heart was on his sleeve. How could one person cause him to feel his strongly? Granted, Jim had always caused him to feel a wide range of emotion. Lately, it was almost too much.

Jim looked up at him from his spot on the edge of his bed, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Bones, I know it looks —”

“It looks just like it is. A man who had no business going out on the porch, putting himself in harm's way,” McCoy said through clenched teeth, striding forward. He should've waited a few more moments before coming in here, at least until he could talk to Jim without feeling this anger. This _worry_. This _gratitude_. At least until he could maintain his professionalism.

"Okay," Jim said quietly, eyes casted down.

McCoy began his work, thankful that Jim may have been too scared to say another word. The readings weren't terrible, but the little jaunt outside had affected Jim. When McCoy pulled a hypo from his kit, Jim threw him a nervous look.

"Blood pressure," McCoy clarified for him without skipping a beat, frowning.

Jim winced when he administered the drug. McCoy knew it hadn't really hurt, but didn't comment. He tucked the hypo away in his kit and took out antiseptic, two bandages, and the dermal regenerator. He pulled up the only chair in the bedroom and sat down in front of Jim. Before he touched Jim's leg and foot, he schooled his features.

"You have several cuts on the bottom of your feet. Did you know that?" He asked Jim with as much tact as he could muster.

A sheen coated Jim's eyes in seconds. McCoy frowned, Jim shaking his head, mouth drawn tight.

"Didn't think so," McCoy mumbled, lifting Jim's right foot up and pressing it on his lap. There it was, a fine streak of blood. The tricorder hadn't lied, neither had the carpet stain he spotted while coming into the bedroom. With extreme care he cleaned the cut and rued the front porch his mother wouldn't fix. It gave her house character, she always said, so it looked like a work of art among the identical ones lining the street. He wondered how much character it'd have if, in the small chance, Jim actually got an infection from this.

Sighing, he said to Jim, "I need you to be still for a few minutes while I work. It may be better for you to..."

His voice faded, realizing that Jim was already pulling a pillow close and carefully leaning back. "Good," McCoy nodded again.

Jim stared up at the ceiling, putting space between them. McCoy found himself thinking far too much while he worked. He was done before he realized it for himself, much like when you're driving a for a long time and come to, suddenly realizing you drove thirty kilometers and never saw any of it. Not one damn tree or hover car you passed.

That was a scary thought. He knew it couldn't happen again while he tended to Jim. Yet, it probably would.

Only the wrapping was left, and he gripped one of Jim's heels firmly. The man was ticklish all over, but especially here. It was a wonder that he hadn't even twitched once. "This is mainly for protection," he arched a brow, winding the bandage around Jim's foot quickly. "In case you forget to wear slippers."

Jim's expression flooded with guilt.

"Or shoes," McCoy added, irritable. He set Jim's feet down, now finished wrapping them.

"Thank you," Jim said in his rasp,

McCoy sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Jim was watching, but he didn't care. He gripped his hair, tugging on his scalp, trying to steady himself without a bottle of whiskey in hand.

Now that caring for Jim was done, there were other things that needed their attention. He lifted his head up and met Jim's anxious gaze. They stared at each for a long time, neither of them speaking. The rain pelted the windows with an unwelcome fury, the sound beginning to mesmerize McCoy.

"You're an idiot," he managed in monotone a full minute later.

"I know," Jim mumbled, his eyes darting towards the window.

“A reckless, stupid, idiot," McCoy reiterated.

Jim eased out from his spot on the bed and walked to the window, shoulders sagging as he turned away from McCoy. “Idiots _are_ known to be stupid, Bones.”

McCoy sighed. He had so many things to say to him, but he still wasn't sure if this was the right time. Things about Jojo, about Jocelyn. Things about _them_.

First things first, he had to make it up to Jim. Going off on him had been grossly inappropriate.

It didn't surprise McCoy one bit when apologies tumbled from Jim's mouth, one after the next.

"I'm sorry. I really am," Jim said hurriedly. "I thought.... I wanted to stop that asshole from ruining your time with Jojo. I could just tell he was bad news. I couldn't do anything else for you, so...so I jumped ahead, without thinking, without seeing what you'd see. And you know better than I do, Bones. You're the doctor. I'm....I'm just a patient. Your sick patient. Who doesn't know shit right now and made things worse —"

McCoy came up behind him and placed his hands on Jim's shoulders. "Hey, now, that's enough."

"It's not," Jim said, voice wavering. He wiped a hand across his nose, sniffling, his eyes pooling with liquid. "I didn't think it through. It was stupid. I should've — "

Jim was loose in his hands as McCoy turned him around. He pressed his fingers against Jim's mouth, hushing him. "It was stupid, and you are an idiot for placing yourself in the line of fire. I'll give you that much. And you'd have hell to pay if something _had_ happened.”

Jim's eyes widened.

McCoy huffed a breath. He couldn't yell at him, not when Jim had essentially saved his time with Jojo.

He shouldn't be telling Jim this simply because he didn't want to feed this desire he had to protect him, but he would've done the same damn thing if he'd been in Jim's shoes.

"You're an idiot," McCoy repeated. "But you're _my_ idiot," he added slowly, dropping his hands.

Jim blinked owlishly at him.

McCoy hesitated before reaching out and cupping one side of Jim's face. "And I shouldn't be doing this, either." Spock was right. There was nothing keeping him from Jim and Jim from McCoy but themselves. "But I am."

Something changed on Jim's face. McCoy could've sworn he saw exactly what was burning in his own heart. Jim's eyes fell on his lips.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He closed the distance, wrapping his other arm around Jim's shoulders, pulling him against his body. Possessively close, for there wasn't any other way he wanted Jim as their lips and teeth clashed.

Jim's eagerness was almost astonishing. The younger man's lips parted immediately, his tongue flicking over McCoy's mouth. It was another invitation, granting him full access. A satisfied but hungry sound coming from the back of his throat, his tongue slipped past, savoring every inch of Jim's mouth. God, he'd wanted this for so long, he couldn't even remember how long he'd been craving a kiss like this from Jim.

He tangled his hands in Jim's hair, drawing on the man's energy, tasting more of Jim's mouth, his tongue swirling its depths. He was half hard already and barely suppressed rutting his hips against Jim's. He settled on holding Jim against him, careful of the catheter, using his tongue to do what the other charged part of his body could not, not with Jim recuperating as he was.

They continued to kiss with abandonment, Jim’s arms now roving the lower part of McCoy's torso. McCoy refused to come up air, hesitating only when he heard the same sounds he'd just made now coming from Jim. Maybe sounding even more desperate than his own had.

An odd feeling came over him. In all his romantic encounters, he'd never before felt this mixture of fear and confidence. He wanted proof, wanted to see the look in Jim's eyes, to see if he was just as enraptured as McCoy thought he was. Part of him almost couldn't believe it that after all the tension and despite the things left between them, that this was even happening. He needed assurance, because if this wasn't what he thought, he had to stop them both now before more damage was done. He gently tugged on Jim's bottom lip, dragging his tongue across his lip one last time before completely breaking the kiss.

Jim's groan quickly morphed into a whine as McCoy broke away. Jim's eyes were wild as he licked his lips. Just like McCoy had shamefully hoped he would be, he was completely wrapped up in this moment. Their moment. Hell, he was even tugging McCoy's shirt, impatiently pulling him closer again.

But McCoy remained immobile. Giving Jim a moment to realize for himself that this was okay. Chests heaving, they stared at each other. He'd give a million credits to know what was going on in that mind of his, but he'd settle knowing he hadn't made a mistake by kissing Jim.

"Jim," McCoy said softly. "Are you okay with this?"

Jim didn't answer. At least not in a normal way. Without ceremony, he lifted his chin. He leaned forward, smashing his lips into McCoy’s.

A thrill shot through McCoy at the aggression, but also a warning. Though his mind buzzed, he managed to move them to the only place he could safely lay Jim down, allowing him a respite from standing and moving around more than he'd had in weeks.

Slower, he reminded himself, pulling them towards the bed. They had to go slower. Doing nothing more than harmless kissing.

Jim followed his lead, hands kneading McCoy's back. McCoy turned them mid-kiss so that the back of Jim's legs hit the edge of the bed. He didn't allow Jim a moment to think or help himself but lowered him on the bed. With one sweep of his hands, he moved Jim’s legs for him so the catheter wouldn't twist uncomfortably and cause him pain. Arms out, McCoy braced his weight on either side of Jim's chest.

Jim blinked up at him, eyes wide and crazed, hands twisting McCoy’s shirt. McCoy swept one hand alongside Jim's face, lingering there in hopes to hold him still.

It worked. Jim’s body relaxed, eyes softening, lips parting. McCoy tipped his head and slowed them down.

He tasted Jim Kirk. He tasted him, beginning with those now plump, full lips he'd been dreaming of. Jim's entire body quivered when McCoy began a painstaking journey from his mouth, on down past his chin. McCoy had just reached underneath Jim's jawline when his control broke. He couldn't resist and sucked on the bare skin, dipping his head into the crook of Jim’s neck. Jim’s hands were in McCoy’s hair, the man lightly moaning as McCoy continued his onslaught on Jim’s upper body.

Jim suddenly gasped underneath him. He arched his back, lifting himself up. As he did so, McCoy's length rubbed against him. McCoy hissed a breath. He dropped his face, pressing it into Jim's chest to control himself, belatedly realizing that he was the only one who had become fully aroused. Who simply had become aroused at all.

He almost groaned. Of all the stupid things... And he, the doctor, to have forgotten. But at least his stupidity stopped there and wouldn't cause a catastrophe with the catheter.

He hated to say it, but it was a damn good thing the meds and the drug therapy caused Jim's erectile dysfunction, or the younger man would be in a painful place about now.

Jim's fingers curled into McCoy's scalp, dragging him lower. "Bones," Jim moaned, some of McCoy's weight pressing against him.

Heart pounding, McCoy reluctantly lifted his head. He stared down at the object of all his affection, finding himself growing even more unsated the longer he invested time touching and kissing Jim.

“Don't...stop. _Please_ ," Jim said, voice ragged and earnest by all rights.

Jim’s brilliant baby blues showed through heavy lidded eyes, tempting McCoy.

“I don't want to, ya know,” McCoy admitted.

He could see it in Jim’s eyes before he replied. How'd they get here this quickly after a mere few kisses?

“Then don't," Jim said, unbelievably calm. It bewildered McCoy even though he knew it shouldn't.

Did Jim even know what McCoy wanted to do? McCoy never bottomed and he wasn't going to start now, not even with Jim, _especially_ not with Jim. But Jim... For all Bones knew, topping was all Jim ever did except on rare occasions. He actually wasn't even sure Jim had been with a man since his teenaged years. To be completely honest, it'd been awhile for McCoy, too.

There'd been a few girls at the Academy Jim had set his sights on, including Gaila, the one person he knew to whom Jim had actually grown attached. Then, McCoy thought with a snarl, hiding it by kissing Jim's entire jawline again, the Catan twins who'd been like a delicacy for Jim. A delicacy that made Jim go crazy and hit cloud nine with what McCoy was certain to be a faked euphoria. Superficial happiness, at best.

McCoy always pretended not to notice the obvious correlation between the twins and then his visits to Georgia, the talks with Jocelyn, and the days and hours away from Jim.

Truthfully, he and Jim were both idiots because they didn't do well without each other very well at all.

He'd finally admitted that to himself months and months ago. He thought about it every single damn day. How he'd held it in until now, he'd never know.

Would Jim be willing to change for McCoy? Would it be humiliating to Jim to be fucked after all this trauma? Or, was he reading him right, thinking that this actually seemed as natural to them as breathing? McCoy wanted to do it right by Jim, nothing rushed, every step of the way done with care. It had to be the right time.

Then it hit him. What was he even thinking? Jim couldn't even _have_ sex yet. Even if they did, it wouldn't have the same effect for Jim as it would have on McCoy. It wouldn't be as pleasurable. That wouldn't be fair to Jim, which, in turn, would feed McCoy's guilt. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

He shook his head. “Doctor’s orders.”

Jim looked absolutely crushed, though McCoy could see the man clearly fighting to hide it. He lowered his head, thoroughly kissing him to get Jim’s mind off what he couldn't do and instead, on what they _could_ do. But he knew it couldn't last. He was far too aroused and affected by these kisses to continue with the bare minimum.

"Mmph, Bones," Jim muffled.

McCoy broke away but kept his mouth within an inch of Jim's. "What," he breathed. Not wanting to stop, his hand reached past Jim's waist, grasping his buttocks.

A throaty whine escaped from Jim's mouth. "I...you...we can't..." He breathed.

"I know," McCoy groaned, pressing a kiss against his ear, then another.

Jim leaned into him, arms wrapping around McCoy's waist like he'd never let him go. McCoy had a mind not to let him. "But I could...you..." he said with a gasp.

McCoy stiffened, reality slugging him in the gut. He wasn't thinking with his brain, obviously. He really had to stop now, or it would be completely unfair to Jim. He lifted his head and pulled away, arms bracing his weight over Jim. He blinked several times, the blood still rushing to his groin.

"Bones?" Jim whispered.

Grimacing, McCoy briefly closed his eyes and made his decision.

"So, this is what we'll do," he breathed out, falling on his back beside Jim with a huff. He relaxed his shoulders and sank into the softness of the bed.

"Bones."

"We'll just..."

" _Bones_."

The plea behind that one word was too great to ignore. He turned his head and found himself almost nose to nose with Jim. "Yeah," he said, voice rough.

"Did you want...or need?" Jim licked his lips, obviously nervous, his hesitance breaking McCoy's heart.

"I don't need anything except one thing, Jim. I need to make it up to you," McCoy drawled quietly, tracing Jim's mouth with his fingertips. The warmth of Jim's breath on his skin sent a shiver down his spine. "Out on the back porch. We can just...sit. Maybe talk."

What looked like tears sprang to Jim’s eyes, but the younger man just nodded.

"When the storm's about to pass, or maybe after...after we spend some time with Jojo and our new guest." McCoy paused, gauging Jim's reaction.

Jim blinked. "What?"

“Spock,” McCoy gently reminded him.

"Right. Spock."

McCoy arched a brow. "You forgot so soon?"

Jim looked all sorts of offended. "No, I just...well, maybe," Jim mumbled, then turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "You kissed me," he accused.

"So a _kiss_ made you forget he was here?" McCoy said smugly. "Huh."

"Just for a moment, I guess, but I didn't forget about Jojo," Jim whispered, eyes switching back on McCoy. "And you haven't either."

Heart racing, McCoy expelled a slow breath. No, no he hadn't.

“The porch?” Jim asked softly, his fingers curling into McCoy’s.

McCoy slid his free hand around Jim’s neck and gave him a long, languid kiss. His insides were like jelly when they were done. He drew back to see Jim's eyes closed, a euphoric expression on his face that he knew to be real. As he brushed the hair from Jim's forehead, the younger man opened those captivating eyes. McCoy couldn't look away and was soon rewarded. Jim's lashes fluttering, he sent him a warm, lazy smile. Desire stirred in McCoy's belly, and he moved his body as close to Jim as possible. He wrapped his arm around him, tucking Jim's head into his shoulder.

“The porch,” McCoy murmured in Jim's hair.

And if they remained in each other's arms the next five minutes, who was there to tell them not to.

Absolutely no one.

 

oOo

 

The evening was more pleasant than Spock expected. Eleanora McCoy was a most gracious host, welcoming Spock from the minute he arrived. He obtained three different sketches of his ears, all of which were drawn by Joanna's expert hand and each distinct in nature. After Dr. McCoy and Jim emerged from Jim's bedroom, it was not difficult to see that that the two men were more at ease with each other than before. He observed the glances Dr. McCoy and Jim gave each other throughout the evening, feeling a stir of contentment that their relationship had begun to mend and even progress. Spock watched in mild amusement as they held hands under a blanket, no doubt wanting to hide this progress from Joanna, at least for a little while longer.

Even while Spock had been far from their presence, he'd felt a discord between the captain and doctor, which resulted in a discord between the three of them, as well. He confidently ascertained that this would no longer be the case.

Spock found himself counting down the minutes until he could leave to resume his investigation. He waited until Dr. McCoy and Jim came in from the back porch and slipped into Jim's bedroom. Mrs. McCoy and Joanna had already retired to their respective rooms. No one was aware of Spock's departure. He exited using the front door and drove away in his rented craft.

This was his second visit to Jocelyn's house. The first being before he came to Mrs. McCoy's. He parked the craft in the darkest part of the street, which conveniently, was one driveway down. Two lights were on, as Spock predicted. With her daughter gone and having received texts from McCoy, he wasn't surprised that Clay Treadway's craft was parked in the driveway, as well.

Spock cracked his window at the same time Clay Treadway stormed out of the house.

"Clay, wait!" Jocelyn cried, trailing after him. "You don't understand."

Treadway halted and spun around. As he walked back to the front step, Jocelyn backed up, her face white in the moonlight.

"There is nothing too understand," Treadway spat. "You're angry I spilled our secret to your ex-husband. You're ashamed of me, Jocelyn, just like everyone else is ashamed of me."

"You know that's not true, Clay," she whispered, crossing her arms in the cool of the night. "You've come so far..."

"Yet, your daughter loathes me," he gave a dark laugh.

"She's seven years old, Clay!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "She needs time, that's all. And maybe, maybe if you'd be a little calmer when she's around, it would help."

He loomed over her, dark business suit ominous in the shadows. "That's not who I am."

"I know," Jocelyn said tightly, her hand shaking as she set it on the bulge of Clay's arm, a finely sculpted bicep. "But, she's a child, Clay. Not one of your opponents."

It was then that Spock knew why this man looked so familiar to him. The face was unlike the one he and Nyota had seen at a boxing match two and half years ago, but it was the same man. When Nyota had won tickets, he had expressed his reluctance to view such entertainment, but he had admitted he was intrigued.

It was this man before him who had won that match, broken teeth and crooked, bloody smile at the end. Wavering on his feet, stubbornness and the sheer determination to be the best keeping him upright. Spock could not easily reconcile this businessman with the boxer, but the truth was before him. Clay Treadway, was the indebted, gambling boxer named Clayton the Lion, who threw away his winnings within a month's time. What happened had since, Spock did not know. However, it appeared that he was attempting to move on from that life.

"And James T. Kirk?" Treadway mocked.

Spock's hand tightened on the steering wheel.

"He's a means to an end," Jocelyn whispered, looking away. "I know you're close to finding out what my ex-husband's involvement was in this incident they're hiding, but I don't want him hurt more than what’s necessary. Jim, either, Clay."

"He's a smart mouth who insulted me, Joce."

"Come," she sighed. "Let's go on in. It's been a long day, and I don't want to fight."

Spock frowned, closing his window as the pair made their way back into the house. Clay Treadway was not a man who submitted to others, but it appeared that Jocelyn had sway over him. More than that, Jocelyn, an associate of her father's financial business, was a woman of means. It was quite possible that Treadway was using her to build this new life. What he'd promise her in return for this balance, Spock could also only speculate.

However, the innocent, joyful face of Joanna McCoy instantly came to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter - I'd love to hear from you. :) 
> 
> Don't worry - I didn't necessarily skip the scene with Jim and Bones on the back porch. I skipped to the scene with Spock at the end on purpose because I was anxious to include Spock's investigation. This chapter would be huge if I hadn't planned things this way. So, the 'back porch' scene will be in Jim's POV in the next chapter. :) I'll backtrack just a little, but Chapter Nine will include new scenes to take us forward, too. 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll be updating again, but it's safe to say between two to three weeks. I am working on a McKirk Stockholm fic that I'm hoping to begin sharing in a couple weeks, called Down the Savage Mountain. That will probably come before chapter nine of this story. I really appreciate your patience with these updates. I've become a very slow writer, especially when there are stressors in my life. I'm also very particular anymore when I "do" write. I usually need a lot of time before I even start writing to get my head focused. And then I need a few hours to "stay" focused. I guess I'm high maintenance. ;0 Time like that is hard to come by. But I'm trying the best I can! 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read! Your comments have kept me going. They truly are inspiring to me. I appreciate every single one!
> 
> One final note about this story - I wanted to give you an estimate of how much more we have to go. All I'll say is this - we are maybe one third (?) the way through. That is a very rough estimate and may change. 
> 
> And, to all who are celebrating Christmas and the New Year these couple weeks, I hope your holidays are safe and blessed. :)


	9. I'm guided by a beating heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Oh, how I’ve MISSED these boys (and all of you!). I’m just beside myself with happiness to be here and see you all again. This is the chapter with the scene that started it all, what I envisioned when I was putting this story together in my head last spring/summer. I’m thrilled to be able to share it with you and simply hope that it’s worth your while.
> 
> I didn’t push the development of this chapter - it was too important to rush through. Also, I want this inspiration to stay. With that in mind, I have been very careful not to tip the balance of my own well-being and everything I have going on IRL. This story is officially off its hiatus. :) But updates will be at my leisure.
> 
> Now, to the thank-yous. :) Because they are very important before we begin...
> 
> To those of you who’ve patiently waited for another chapter - thank you. It means so much that you’ve hung around. I really needed that break - and didn’t know how much I needed it, actually, until about two weeks into it.
> 
> To all of you who offered their advice, encouragement, and understanding (and assistance when I was too whelmed to ask properly) - thank you. I read those words over and over and they were a great comfort and inspiration to me.
> 
> To DiamondBlue4, junker5, and plumeria47- my “beta pool.” :) Thank you for giving your time and energy to beta, for the thought you put into both critiquing and making this chapter better. I’m so appreciative of your encouragement and support! You are all such lovely, generous souls. **HUGS THEM**
> 
> To Joja - a lot I could say. I will leave it at THANK YOU, dear heart.
> 
> As I mentioned in my author’s note to Chapter 8, I'm backtracking a bit for this next chapter. We’ll begin at the tail end of the bedroom scene in the last chapter, with J & B. However, the first scene is in Jim’s POV, not McCoy’s. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

 

Cocooned in the arms of Leonard McCoy, Jim wondered what, exactly, he’d been doing all his life. Nothing seemed more important than these moments, thanks to the euphoria detaching him from the world beyond his bedroom door.

Except that there was. His hellish drug therapy.

Jim shivered involuntarily. Hellish was a kind word to use to describe the injections that were unlike any other hypos he'd ever experienced. He didn’t even know how to describe the experiences as a whole. If he thought about it too much, he wasn't sure he’d be able to withstand the therapy that was coming. Not like this, not when he was already down. The next round meant even more fevers. More night sweats. More hallucinations. More symptoms. Thinking of the catheter, he added another thing to the miserable list—an even greater loss of control.

If each session was to be significantly worse than the previous, the next round was sure to be harder on Bones than on Jim. Because he knew his best friend. He understood the heartache this was causing him, the sheer amount of guilt he carried. Since they'd arrived here, he had felt it himself a thousand times over.

Bones sighed into Jim's hair as if he sensed his internal struggle, shifting his position so that he was on his side. Jim's body naturally followed suit since he was already leaning against the doctor’s solid chest. Bones’s arms tightened around him and he soon found himself tucked into his best friend like a little spoon.

Huh. Jim absently stroked the arm resting across his stomach. If he’d ever spooned in his life, he’d almost always been the big spoon. So this, this peculiar position he was in was altogether...different. Strange. Even a bit confusing.

He considered the warmth and strength Bones exuded, a soothing presence like a warm, protective blanket.

Dammit, that's exactly what they were doing, his body pressing into Bones like a little spoon. _Bones's_ spoon. He smirked, a snort escaping.

"What's so damn funny," Bones muttered, that arm refusing to give when Jim actually laughed.

He’d never really cared for being the little spoon before, the few times he’d been in that position because he'd scramble out of bed before it could happen. But being Bones's little spoon? Dammit, he liked it. Really liked it. For now, anyway. He bit his lip but his mouth still twisted into another grin as he pictured them in switched positions, his arm snugly fitted around Bones’s waist instead. Whispering thank-yous in _his_ ear that he’d brought him back from everything dark that existed in this life. From death, itself.

He’d do anything to let this man know how much he meant to him. And if that meant being the little spoon so Bones could be the big one, so be it. It was a small sacrifice.

And Jim certainly knew about making sacrifices.

He sobered. "Nothin'," he said in his throaty whisper.

"Nothin', my ass," Bones complained. "I can hear you smiling."

"Not smiling,” he deadpanned.

An image of Spock passed through his mind. The Vulcan stumbling upon them like this, a brow quirking subtly, the sight merely confirming what he already knew. He imagined it being Uhura, her eyes and wit sharp, Jim never living it down. He pictured Scotty in his brogue exclaiming why they hadn’t figured this out sooner. Then Sulu, dry humor cracking the helmsman's stoic face. And Chekov, his brilliant smile lighting the room.

Jim barely managed to keep it together, biting his lip to stop from laughing. Things were going to change down the line. He could just feel it.

Bones grunted. “I heard what I heard.”

Jim snorted again. “You can’t hear a smile, Bones.”

“You're happy,” Bones explained.

He was happy. The next therapy was still several days away, one day a hundred in his world, time going at a painstakingly slow pace. He was the “little spoon,” and Spock was here. There was plenty to be happy about.

“It's a good sound,” Bones said, sighing. “Whatever you do, though, Jim, don't move yet. This is the most relaxed I've been all damn day.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered, relaxing even more into his arms.

Spooning. He smiled to himself, and could hardly imagine taking another step, let alone breath, without the promise that this man would be along for the ride. That once the ride as severely sick patient and resolute doctor was over, they could go back to being like this. More, after he'd made a full recovery.

He would work twice as hard in therapy to get there. He'd listen to absolutely everything Bones said. Everything. _Anything_. Because, for the first time in a long time, his future looked bright again.

Bones was worth it. He’d known that from the very beginning, even if it had been subconsciously. He wouldn't trade the years he'd spent as Leonard McCoy's best friend for anything in the world, but thoughts of missed opportunities, memories of nights they'd each spent alone in their own dorm or their own quarters, brought an ache to his chest. He swallowed with difficulty and tried not to squirm in Bones’ arms, in fear that he'd destroy the other man’s peaceful moment.

Not one thing about those years had been wasted, but he couldn't help but wonder if all of this could have happened sooner. If only one of them had been smart enough to see what might have been there all along.

He remembered the day he'd met the disheveled, ranting doctor like it was yesterday. He had boarded that shuttle bone-weary, with nothing but the leather jacket on his back, a headache from hell, and bruises littering his face. Proof that he'd been a little too slow on his feet the night before, a little too laid back during the fight for his own good. Not only that, but he'd just given up one of the only things he'd still owned that reminded him of his dad—his bike.

The bike hadn't been much to look at, it had even sounded like a sick cat at times, but he never cared about the less than pleasing aesthetics or the occasional, abhorrent noise it made. He'd lovingly fixed and cleaned each and every part, the bike similar to the one he'd seen in holos his mother had stashed in a box in her room. Those holos had been the only ones of his dad without something connecting him to Starfleet. And that had been the only reason he’d even looked at the holos after Tarsus, why he’d stolen them from his own mother.

He'd found the box when he was seven years old, sneaking into her bedroom like he usually did when he was bored. A few close calls with Frank had never stopped him from entering her room. Frank only ventured into that room on rare occasions, usually drunk and only if he dragged his body off the couch and climbed the stairs. Winona had been off planet more times than Jim could count, his own mother spending more time in space than in his young life. He hadn't worried about her, either.

For those very reasons he wandered into her vacant space without reservations. With nothing more on his mind than to look at the face that was so much like his own. The face his mother saw whenever her gaze stopped on Jim's face a little too long.

The color of the bike in the garage was different than the one in the holo, but George Kirk could have painted it before he'd set off into the black with Winona. This bike very likely could have been his dad's. The one he'd had always liked to ride.

Just like the car, Frank couldn't keep his hands off it. And just like the car, Jim had stolen it back.

Not long after that, he'd given it up for good. Maybe it'd been a stupid idea to just hand over the keys to some stranger before he’d boarded the shuttle—and it was stupid, but he’d made worse decision in his life. But he had still felt that high from the night before. Thanks to Pike and his own recklessness and the dare that had changed absolutely everything, he’d let go of his bike. His desire to be everything his father wasn't driving him forward into Starfleet.

And then that shuttle ride had changed everything again. An embittered drawl had filled his ears, taking his mind off his own tale of woe more than Uhura's smile had. He didn’t usually readily admit when someone took him by surprise, but Bones had done just that. He'd ranted so much he had actually thought about kissing the guy to shut him up. Partly because his head had been pounding and he’d been more than slightly hung over. But mostly because he’d realized he was sitting by the sexiest person on that shuttle. Maybe even the sexiest person in Iowa. Maybe even sexier than Uhura.

Lucky him.

Had he actually done such a thing, where would they be now?

There'd been other times he'd wanted to cross their boundaries of friendship, take the initiative and press his lips against those of a man who’d proven time after time that he was the one who could calm his nightmares. Heal his wounds. Simply give him reason to go on.

Now that he thought about it, that desire had been such a part of him, it'd become a fluid part of his thinking. He simply hadn't recognized the seriousness of it, the authenticity, until now. But with this authenticity came responsibilities. For one, a seven-year-old girl, whose heart was even larger than that of her father’s. Not that Bones ever boasted about his compassionate bedside manner. On the contrary, the doctor usually did all he could to hide how much he cared. Except for the moments like he’d just experienced.

Bones had unleashed the monster in himself.

He had always been the clingy, tactile one. Bones was giving him a run for his money.

"We should get up,” Jim said first, surprised that Bones had let them remain like this on the bed for this long. “They're all out there, you know.”

He’d hardly gotten a chance to say hello to Spock before things got out of hand.

Bones's nose nudged the side of his face, probing for an open spot to kiss him. Distracting him when he _did_ find a spot.

"Bones," Jim tried again. "I think—"

He stopped speaking when the man began literally nibbling at his ear. Tongue-tied, he closed his eyes. He could get used to this, this attention. He was getting used to it. Who knew that Bones even nibbled while spooning? Definitely not Jocelyn. She’d break out her claws before cuddling.

He almost lost it when the doctor’s mouth slid down along his jawline. Spooning. Nibbling. Jim wondered what was next but quickly realized he really couldn't anticipate such a thing.

Leonard McCoy, as it turned out, was quite unpredictable.

"Agh," Jim moaned, reaching behind him, curling his hand around Bones's neck.

His steady kissing nudged Jim’s face to the side, the doctor’s ministrations soon making him loose-limbed. Growing completely pliant, he let him have his way. He soon had Jim’s cheek pressed firmly against the soft quilt underneath them.

“You want...to...stop…” Jim groaned, silently begging him to say no.

“Listen to you, being responsible all of a sudden,” Bones breathed.

“Someone has to be,” he mumbled back.

If he only knew. Jim had only said that to get his mind off where he'd rather be. Under the damn quilt with him. Under this man. Under Bones.

If he even allowed himself to consider half of how amazing that would be….

He shivered again. He’d never thought of willingly being on the bottom but now that he’d thought of it, with Bones, he couldn’t un-think it. He didn't want to un-think it. He’d be crazy to even try. Imagining those legendary hands on him again, all over his body, he struggled with his next breath. He gasped a pathetic sound, more like a squawk, instantly alerting the doctor.

The arms around him slackened. “You alright?” Bones asked.

 _No_. “Yes,” he rasped unconvincingly, squeezing his eyes shut. He wouldn’t be unless Bones satisfied the multitude of wild dreams his mind had conjured in the last sixty seconds alone.

“I knew it. This was too much,” Bones asserted, already slipping out from behind Jim and gently guiding him on his back.

The lightheadedness he felt was unexpected. He was grateful for Bones’s steady hand and exhaled the shallow breath he’d taken, not yet opening his eyes.

“Hey,” Bones murmured, his hand cupping his cheek. “Can you look at me?”

The question made him squeeze his eyes shut even tighter. He needed a minute. Just a minute of not looking at Bones. To pull himself together.

“Okay,” Bones continued to murmur. “Take your time. Catch your breath.”

Jim inhaled shallowly, thinking only of the tenderest of touches. The callouses on the fingers he’d know anywhere. Especially now.

“Outside?” he managed in a tight voice.

Somewhere else, an open space where he could actually breathe, regain his composure, but selfishly, still have Bones beside him.

“After we spend time with Jojo, we can sit on the porch,” Bones said decisively. “Then we should call it a night.”

Jim opened his eyes then, meeting Bones’s concerned gaze head on.

But neither moved. Caught up in the moment or each other, he wasn't sure.

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones breathed.

Jim could've sworn he saw a fresh lust fill his expression. That he’d taken hold of Bones’s hand, bringing it to his own mouth, didn't help matters. Neither did the thumb stroking his bottom lip, teasing his mouth open. He barely refrained from gently biting down and stared at Bones, instead. Willing him to lean closer and kiss him and do whatever it was that he thinking about doing with his mouth.

“You’ll come back here tonight? Stay awhile when we’re done on the porch?” he asked before he could put his thoughts through a filter.

He’d do anything to have Bones this close again.

The lust turned to greedy relief. A devastatingly sexy look on the face he suddenly realized adored. That adoration took him by surprise. It wasn’t like he’d ever thought that much about anyone’s face before. He might have even scoffed at the idea in the past. But not now. Definitely not now.

Bones looked at him like he’d just hung the moon. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Jim nodded, tasting Bones’s thumb with a flick of his tongue. It was clean with a hint of salt. All Bones, all that he needed at this very moment. Until the older man leaned over him and replaced his hand with his lips.

He made a noise at the back of his throat, his lips practically melting under Bones’s mouth. Did he have any idea that these slow, deliberate kisses made Jim burn for him?

He was way over his head. Bones’s thumb joined his lips, simultaneously grazing his bottom lip while they kissed, and Jim lifted his head for more, helpless to the sensation. As if the doctor’s very touch had hypnotized his body to react at every little damn thing he did.

And the thing was, the thing that should have scared him more than anything else but didn’t—he wanted his body to react. For once, not being at the mercy of his own body or to the drug therapy stripping away his dignity and resilience. Just to Bones.

If Jojo hadn't been out there waiting for her father, he would have begged him to never stop.

Leonard H. McCoy certainly knew what he was doing. He had Jim eating out of his damn hand.

“What you do to me,” Bones groaned.

Jim had no reply for that. He was just as guilty.

Bones pulled away, obviously having more self-control than he did. Jim lifted himself up on one elbow, but that was as far as he got. He couldn't gather the strength to push himself off the bed. He tried again, but grunted in defeat, forced to lie on his back once more. His body was worn and uncooperative, weak and unaccustomed to the sheer amount of stress he’d experienced in the last hour alone.

Treadway. Bones. The hallucination. _Bones_. All in the matter of an hour.

He stared up at the ceiling, winded both physically and mentally. Like someone had slammed the brakes on him for the thousandth time. It was a cruel joke after the high he’d just experienced.

“What the hell is wrong with me, Bones,” he whispered, raising a hand to his head.

His fingers grazed his temple. With dismay he realized his tremors had returned. He couldn't keep his hand there long, bringing it heavily down to his chest. He covered it with his other arm, trying to hide the issue although there was no one to hide it from. Bones already knew.

“Nothing abnormal for someone recuperating from an irradiation. Here,” Bones said, offering a hand to support Jim’s back, another hand to pull him up.

Jim didn’t see anything normal about taking a single step forward, only to be forced to take a dozen or more backwards.

“You’ll feel better once you get on your feet,” Bones murmured. “You were doing better walking around earlier.”

He helped him sit on the edge of the bed and stepped back, waiting patiently as Jim blinked several times.

“Dizzy?” Bones asked.

Jim rubbed his temple and nodded.

“Not surprised,” the doctor muttered. “The hallucination alone could cause that effect, plus the meds….”

Bones fell silent and made Jim sit still another minute while he waved the tricorder over him like it was his magic wand. Finding absolutely everything that was and could be wrong with him.

He bit his tongue from saying anything to upset his well-meaning physician and straightened his back once the dizziness passed. He had to be fine. No set-backs. They’d had enough of those. He lifted his chin. Clenched his hands. Tucked them into the sides of his thighs. Stared resolutely ahead. Anything he could think of to show Bones he could do this.

“You need to eat more, Jim,” was all Bones said as he watched the readings.

The mention of food instantly reminded him of his previous struggle. Although he didn't feel that familiar swirl of nausea that usually gripped his stomach, he clearly remembered it.

“About that…” he croaked, throat raw but feeling an inexplicable urge to explain why he'd had trouble eating earlier. And why, when he felt weakened, and less than a person, he might have trouble again. “About...that.”

Bones must have heard the hesitance in his voice. “Ya sure you want to explain?” he asked. “Because you don’t have to. Not today.”

The warmth in his eyes gave Jim courage. He wasn't sure he really wanted to explain. It just seemed like a logical thing to do at the moment. “It’s...the...it reminds me...the _food_ , Bones.”

Jim shivered for a third time and shut himself up.

Bones crossed his arms, lines deepening on his face. Lines Jim had put on his face.

Trying to ‘share’ had been a bad, bad idea. What had he been thinking? Talking about his aversions to food never, ever ended well.

“It reminds you of Tarsus,” Bones said slowly, speaking for him. “Representing another time you were in poor health. That, in turn, makes you recall the starvation.”

Jim wanted to gag. He wanted to _stop_ wanting to gag. He’d endured worse without having issues like this, hadn’t he?

“And that makes you remember the wastefulness you hated to see coming out of the famine. The wastefulness you still abhor which directly correlates with the injections and the symptoms they cause. Before you know it, you’re thinking of Tarsus all over again. And then,” Bones paused. “The next injections.”

He was relieved that Bones could figure him out seamlessly like this.

“It’s a endless cycle, Jim, but we can try some things to make it easier for you,” Bones said in a soft voice.

“How...how did you...know,” he struggled to say.

“Have you forgotten how long I’ve known you?” Bones shook his head. “Jim, for the most part, I know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Jim rasped, grinning crookedly.

Bones’s eyes filled with surprise. “There’s the captain I know.”

It humbled him to hear the relief in his friend’s voice. “He’s just…” He inhaled deeply. “Taking a break.”

“He’s there. I saw him answer the front door and confront the world’s biggest asshole,” Bones said, coming closer.

Jim barked a laugh. “You really watched that, huh?”

“I’ll do anything to help you get through your next meal. Jojo wanted to watch a movie, so maybe…” Bones said, obviously changing the subject.

He let the statement hang and hesitated, rubbing his jaw as he stared vacantly at some spot beside them.

“Bones?” Jim asked, concerned when it seemed as if his friend had entered another world.

Bones’s hand stilled and he glanced sideways at Jim. “How about dinner and a movie?” he asked slowly. “With me?”

The contents of his stomach tossed around, but not because of the mention of food or wastefulness or just being sick. It was the goodness of Leonard H. McCoy all rolled into this _master_. Master of the unexpected. Who was throwing him yet another curveball.

Dinner and a movie?

A date?

Who the hell would even ask him on a date in the state he was in? He’d had wicked scratches on his arm, a bizarre symptom of withdrawal. He exuded a lack of common sense, which had nearly landed him in a hospital. Hell, he could hardly even eat half a pancake let alone a real meal.

“Are you crazy?” he blurted.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could’ve smacked himself alongside the head. Only an idiot would’ve said that.

Bones blinked at him. “Well, not since I last checked.”

“You’re asking me out on a…a date?” He wondered if he really was hearing things. Maybe some other random symptom were now plaguing him.

“I admit it’s a little unusual. Unorthodox, even, since we can’t go anywhere and your dinner will probably consist of soup or broth. And it is last minute, and for now, for Jojo’s sake, we have to keep it quiet until I can talk to her at a later time.” Bones cleared his throat and lifted his chin as if to challenge Jim to decline the cavalier-sounding offer he’d made. “But, yes. I am.”

Sadly, Jim _did_ find it almost too hard to believe that he was asking him on a date. He was a sick, sick man who’d just admitted to experiencing even more trouble.

He deflated. What if Bones was asking him out, just to try and get Jim’s mind off of himself?

“And you're asking me on a date, for no other reason than...you want to?” He didn't realize he was clenching his jaw until he felt the stab of pain in his mouth.

Could he handle it if Bones said no to that? This physical intimacy was one thing, but a date was another. It made things even more official between them. It was taking another step. And if he was merely feeling obligated to ask Jim to keep his mind occupied, how could he ever reconcile those things?

“Oh, you better believe I want to. I want to sit next to you, hold your hand. Besides, I thought of asking you out months ago, Jim,” Bones confessed.

Oh.

They stared at each other.

“You did?” he rasped in disbelief.

“Never had enough nerve to do it.” Bones admitted. “Was always scared that I’d...that I'd ruin things between us. Wreck the best damn friendship I'd ever have—”

“Well, you did have the nerve to kiss me, you know,” Jim pointed out.

The doctor cleared his throat, and Jim saw his best friend’s neck turn red before his eyes. Was Bones blushing?

“I guess I did,” Bones scowled. “But even though we've already taken our relationship to the next level—or two—I'm standing here, quaking in my boots.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his stance, holding the tricorder with two hands. Then one. Then setting the device on the bed when Jim didn't answer. His hands not appearing to know what they should be doing.

Jim stared at those hands, that face, then back down at Bones’s hands again, which were now on his hips. Only one other time had he’d ever seen even a fraction of this nervousness in Bones. The early sims, testing his acute aviaphobia.

“Jim?” Bones asked hesitantly. “Did I go too far?”

His heart pumped wildly. Too far? Bones was pushing them off of another cliff. The first time he’d pushed them off into a void had been their very first kiss, while he’d bathed. No, this wasn’t tying the knot. But it was tying them to each other, even so.

And Jim couldn’t think of anything better.

He’d play it cool. Just this once.

He cleared his throat. “I’m a lousy date, at least at the moment. Can't even get out of my pjs and slippers.”

Or what looked like pajamas. And he would be wearing slippers to protect his feet this time. Dammit, he’d wear whatever Bones wanted him to wear to make things easier for him as his physician.

“I'd rather you be comfortable,” Bones said, brow twitching. “But...is that a...no?”

“Well,” Jim scratched his head, trying to look unsure.

Bones stared at him in near-horror, hands falling to his sides.

As tempting as it was to continue tormenting him, Jim decided they’d both had enough drama for one day.

“I'd be out of my mind if I said no,” he said, breaking into a grin. “This will be the easiest date I've ever been on in my life. I don't even have to get ready. Or get in a craft. Or brush my teeth, but I might, just in case you kiss me goodnight later at the door. Not the _front_ door, in case you were thinking of dropping me off there—” Jim realized he was rambling and Bones was literally staring at him with a gaping mouth, but he couldn’t stop, “—so no front doors, Bones. We all know how unpredictable those are now. You’ll have to drop me off at my bedroom door. Er...I guess it’s not mine, but your mom’s…” He paused, scratching his chin. “Never mind. I won’t go there. That’s not what I meant, either.”

Bones’s anxious expression disappeared. He sighed, rolling his eyes at the same time. “You’re such a moron,” he muttered.

Jim smiled like he’d paid him a compliment.

“You could have just said so,” Bones said under his breath.

“Had you going there for a moment, huh?” Jim probed in good humor.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”

Jim couldn’t help but push to see more of that scowl of his.

“I wouldn’t have taken it too far, but you should’ve seen the look on your face,” he said casually. “Like the look on a guy when he’s about to be turned down.”

Bones practically glowered at him. “Shut up, Jim,” he said, voice low.

Jim tsked. “Now, that’s not very nice to say to your date, is it?” he chided. “And here I thought you’d been raised better.”

Bones groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“A date with a guy wearing pjs in your mother’s living room,” Jim retorted.

What Bones had suggested was...sweet. Like a courtship he’d never asked for. A courtship he’d never even imagined—but that he now realized he wanted. Considering the time he had on his hands, it was more than convenient and might help them get through this long convalescence of his.

Bones blew out a long breath. “So, we’re really doing this,” he said, his near-smile causing excitement to bubble in Jim’s chest.

“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

“I'll get an extra pillow for you and a plate of food ready and…” Bones looked at him sheepishly. “Spock.”

“What about him?” Jim asked.

“He'll be here.”

“He is here,” Jim pointed out. “And he'll be paying more attention to Jojo, you know. Not us.”

He wasn't sure of that—Spock missed nothing. He’d end up being a chaperone just as Jim thought—but it apparently sounded good enough to appease Bones.

“Someday, we’ll go out in style,” the doctor said. He suddenly peered at the floor and under the bed in a flurry of activity. “Let me find those slippers for you. I think I know where they are.”

Before Jim could say a word, Bones turned and walked into the bathroom.

Jim almost pinched himself in the silence. A first date. It was the last thing he’d ever expected to happen. It was also casual and unassuming, and all that he could physically handle at the moment. Probably the only setting he could handle for a few more weeks.

And that was what made the idea so damn perfect.

Bones reappeared, carrying the pair of slippers. “These should keep your feet protected.”

He set them on the floor beside him. Jim slipped into them and stood, using Bones as an anchor to steady himself.

“You will explain Treadway, right?” Jim asked quietly, looking Bones right in the eye.

“Yes,” he snapped.

Jim's brows shot up.

“I wish that man had never…” Bones’s eyes flashed, words breaking off.

He sighed, sitting heavily on the bed, taking Jim’s recently vacated place.

“I didn’t mean to lash out at you,” Bones murmured, voice muffled, head down in his hands. “You just caught me by surprise. I’ll talk about it and answer your questions later. Let’s not ruin the next few hours by bringing his name up again.”

Bones lifted his head. Jim stared down at him, foot in mouth.

He should’ve known better than to bring it up in the first place. The thing was, he still had the overwhelming urge to do whatever he needed to do to fix this problem for Bones. To somehow purge this intimidating, manipulating man from Jocelyn and Jojo’s life.

“You have a right to ask, Jim,” Bones continued, as if sensing the battle in his head. “Especially after what he put you through. But I don’t want to ruin our time together, talking about that man and what he almost did to you. He could’ve put you in the hospital. For a long, long time. One punch to the face, Jim. That’s all it would’ve taken.”

He’d had years of practicing his composure—two decades, actually—but even he had to admit that the reminder of how close he’d been to getting pounded by two massive fists cracked his mask. Because Bones was right.

Clay Treadway had the power to irrevocably damage his recovery, leaving the Enterprise without a captain. Her crew without a captain. Bones without...him.

“Okay,” he relented, if only for the doctor’s own sanity. “If that’s what you want.”

“Nothin’ we can do about it tonight, anyway,” Bones said.

Walking with him to the bedroom door, Jim gripped his hand like there was no tomorrow, clinging to the sense of normalcy that Bones projected.

With any luck, he’d turn to him for help with the situation sooner rather than later. Allowing him a chance to help, not go behind his back.

Or the way he saw it inevitably play out in his head—a way that was altogether dangerous.

 

oOo

 

McCoy admitted his concern that they were pushing things on a medical level—but only to himself. He disliked the dark circles under Jim’s eyes, the tremors, the other things he was trained to see. Yet, he couldn’t deny the thrill he felt watching the younger man’s excitement. So when they emerged from the bedroom, letting go of each other’s hands with the promise of holding them again soon, he was almost positive this would bolster both of their spirits.

There was only one thing that would be waiting in the shadows—the inevitable talk about Treadway.

He preferred to ease into it. The movie with Jojo had no place for a talk like that, and the porch seemed too much of a peace offering. At least he’d finally be able to talk about his true feelings for Jim in a place that always made the younger man happy.

Jim was like a kid when it came to simple things like porch swings and backyard gardens. Especially his Mama’s garden. Things that most people would take for granted. But not Jim. Never Jim.

McCoy turned just as the object of his affection leaned in toward Spock, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

“We’re on a date,” he heard him whisper.

Good _Lord_ , Jim Kirk would never grow up.

“A date?” Spock echoed, gaze fixed on McCoy. “You...and the doctor?”

“Yep,” Jim said proudly like a child who’d eaten his all vegetables.

Jim Kirk was a child disguised as a Starfleet captain. It figured he’d spill the beans and tell Spock right off the bat. McCoy walked up to Jim and gently smacked the back of his head.

“Ya moron,” he grumbled.

“Ow,” Jim complained, vigorously rubbing the back of his head. “What did I do to deserve that?”

McCoy looked across the room at Jojo, who was engaged in an animated conversation with his mother.

“She’s over there,” Jim mouthed, pointing.

“She’s in the same room,” McCoy grumbled again, though it really wasn’t a problem. She wasn’t paying attention to them at all.

“Anyway, we are.” Jim turned back to Spock. “And you’re our chaperone. Not that we need one.” He frowned. “It’s the 23rd century. Who the hell has a chaperone these days? But as you know, Bones is a stickler for southern grace and charm and makes sure I have my slippers.”

“That makes no sense,” McCoy stopped, blinking at Jim.

It sounded more like delirium. The second time in less than ten minutes that Jim took to rambling nonsense.

Jim shrugged. “All I’m saying is that we don’t need one but you’re being old-fashioned.”

McCoy bit back a retort. “I’m not old-fashioned.”

Jim frowned. “Yes, you are.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Am not.”

Jim’s frown deepened. “You are. You’re old-er, and take after your grandmother. That’s being old-fashioned in my book, Bones. Add in the chaperone part. The slippers. And there you have it.”

Unbelievable.

“The slippers were to protect your feet. That's being a good doctor,” he defended himself.

Maybe he should’ve made Jim stay in the bedroom in the state of insanity he was in.

Spock stared at Jim curiously. “I find your logic fascinating. However, it is, for a lack of a better word, discombobulated.”

“It’s not that bad.” Jim grinned back at him, stretching the grin wider when Spock said the word discombobulated. “You _are_ the chaperone. Bones likes nice, fluffy cushioned chairs like his Nana did, not to mention he whistles just as loudly. Just like her. Oh, and just like Pi—”

The name died on his lips. But they’d heard it loud and clear.

Just like Pike.

McCoy didn’t dare breathe as Jim’s face started to crumple. Spock took a single step forward but then the captain caught himself. Spock froze, Jim biting his bottom lip. He gnawed on it with his teeth, face twisted in a pained expression.

McCoy forced his hands out of the fists they wanted to make. Everything in him wanted to comfort Jim, make the hurt that he had to deal with on top of his ill health simply go away. This was the natural way of things, as they’d all had to deal with Pike’s passing. Yet it was hardly natural for Jim. He’d had less time than anyone to deal with Pike’s death, the man who’d been like a father to him, at the very least a mentor. But he merely stood, arms at his sides. A bystander, reading Jim’s cue that he didn’t want to talk about it at this moment in time.

After a swelling pause, Jim swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He laughed shakily. “Ever hear Bones whistle, Spock? Piercing. Hurts the ears,” he continued, his frail voice gradually growing into a stronger rasp.

McCoy hesitated only for a second. He’d distract Jim, act normally in hopes that he’d return his focus to their date.

“Nooooo _sense_ ,” he muttered, drawing out each word. “What do cushioned chairs have to do with _anything_?”

Spock wore a strange look on his face, as if he agreed with him.

A scary thought in and of itself.

Mercifully, Jim’s eyes brightened as he glanced between the two of them. He placed his hand on his chest, over his heart. “I’m hurt,” he said in a mocking whisper.

McCoy inwardly sighed, with equal parts of relief and chagrin. Clearly this had been the best and safest way to encourage Jim to both spread his wings—and act like an idiot. Despite the slight hiccup, the underlying grief that was still so fresh.

“We have no choice about the chaperone,” he reminded him in a grumbling tone. “Which we don't need.”

Jim glanced sharply at Spock. “He means no offense, Spock.”

“I take no offense, Jim,” Spock stated.

“He’s glad you’re here,” Jim continued earnestly, as if Spock hadn't said a word. “So am I. I mean, you saved me from a walloping. Kinda hard not to be grateful. He’s just grumpy because I get to dress comfortably in pajama pants and slippers for our date and he’s stuck like...like that.” He waved a dismissive hand towards McCoy. “A miserable get-up, if you ask me.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes, but refused to look down at himself even though two pairs of eyes inspected his clothing. He was dressed fine, thank you very much. In fact, the way Jim was looking him up and down now said it all.

Jim _liked_ how he was dressed.

Two could play at this game.

“Would it be better for me to ignore you or pretend that statement is actually true?” he deadpanned.

Jim wagged his brows. “Oh, you do whatever you think is best. I’m sure you will later on.”

No one could've missed the innuendo or his lazy smirk. Spock’s own brows lifted astronomically high.

McCoy hadn’t seen this coming at all. Clearly, neither had Spock.

Jim was in a mood.

This was going to be one long, long night.

“Fine. I’ll just ignore you, then,” McCoy said and turned his back without warning, Jim laughing behind him.

It was a damn good sound.

oOo

 

Bones did _not_ ignore him the rest of the night. In fact, his eyes followed him everywhere. Because of that, Jim naturally felt inclined to talk more.

For when did he ever have Bones’ full attention lately, other than when he was sick?

He also knew that if he could do one thing for Bones, it was to provide a distraction from the overarching problems for a few hours. And provide a distraction he would. Even if he had to strategically flirt over Jojo’s head to do it.

He spied her on the floor, sprawled out and organizing books, stuffed animals, and art supplies in her backpack. He straightened his shoulders and walked up to her. “Wanna watch a movie with us, Jojo?” a hoarse whisper all he could manage with his raw throat.

She looked up in surprise and sprang to her feet. She launched herself at him like he’d said he was taking her to her favorite store for new books or to the fair for rides and cotton candy, wrapping her arms around his waist. Somehow, he managed to hold his own with a limpet stuck to his legs.

“Uncle Jim, how’d ya know that’s what I wanted to do?” she asked excitedly.

“Well,” he began, “we like a lot of the same things. Pizza…” He paused as her head bobbed up and down. “Chocolate cake. Books. Night lights. Worms.” He hesitated again. _Your dad,_ he mentally added. “And a night like this, when it’s raining, I know I want to curl up under a blanket and watch a good show.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, a smile blooming on her face. “Right next to Daddy. So we can cuddle.”

“Right next to your Daddy to cuddle,” he affirmed with a straight face, glancing over her head at Bones. He smirked. “I think that’s a fantastic idea, Jojo.”

“Infant,” the doctor grumbled under his breath.

But he didn’t look away. Rather, Bones crossed his arms and stared right at Jim.

And Jim? He was locked in that stare until someone cleared their throat. Twice. He tore his gaze away from Bones, wondering who’d been watching them.

“Jim?” a gentle voice asked to his left.

He glanced to his side, the knowing look in Nora’s eyes sealing the deal for him. He was in over his head if she’d noticed what he was doing, ogling her son like he was a delicacy.

“You have to be famished after all this excitement. Do you feel up to eating anything?” she asked sweetly, guiding him to the task at hand. “Leonard asked if you could all eat in here, where it’s more comfortable. It’s about time someone uses my new dinner trays.”

“Oh, goodie!” Jojo said, squeezing his waist more.

“Jim?” Nora asked again, this time hesitant.

Jim swallowed, feeling Bones’s eyes boring into him. Endless cycle? Maybe he could break that cycle tonight.

Jojo wiggled out of his arms and picked up her bag.

“Yes, I do,” he said roughly, swallowing.

“I’ll get you soup, Jim,” Bones offered, straightening his body and half-turning for the kitchen.

“No,” Nora interjected quickly. She placed her palm on his chest, stopping him. Shaking her head, she patted his chest twice. “Leave it to me. And leave the blankets to Spock.”

Jim frowned as she walked away. Leave the blankets to Spock?

Where was Spock? Hadn't he just been here? He craned his neck and peered behind Bones through the doorway. Sure enough there he was, coming in from the hallway, holding not one but two blankets, one of them very similar to the quilt on his bed.

Spock walked up to him. “If you are amenable, I will assist you once you take your seat, Jim,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that, Spock.”

“I do not ask out of obligation,” the Vulcan said calmly.

It didn’t take Jim long to understand that Spock wouldn’t take no for an answer, that he was insistent on helping.

And it made perfect sense. There were a limited number of things that other people could do for him since he’d been discharged from the hospital, babysitting being at the top of the list. He’d had nurses, housekeeping, and Bones to take care of everything else, yet his crew had been there for him whenever they’d been able. Jim also knew from speaking with Uhura that Spock had admitted to feeling inadequate at times. Especially when Jim wasn’t up to company.

But he was up to company now. Maybe it’d be good for Bones if Spock chipped in, killing two birds with one stone. Giving Spock purpose while he was here and giving Bones a break.

He smiled at his friend. “Right. Thanks, Spock.”

While Bones set up the movie, Jim chose the far corner of the couch and eased into a seat on the cushion. He usually sat in the middle, but since Jojo wanted to sit by her father, this was best place to be.

Jojo must have agreed. She hopped on to the couch, leaving a space in between them.

“Uncle Jim?” she asked, drawing her knees up to her chin.

Jim glanced sideways at her while Spock unfolded the blanket. She put her chin on her knees and blinked several times at him.

“Are you cold?” she asked in a small voice.

“I probably will be after I eat,” he said, already grateful for the blanket Spock draped over his lap.

He hugged it closer to himself, rubbing his fingers along either side of the hem to feel its softness and slight texture. A habit he’d learned over the years, as blankets had always provided comfort for him one way or another at various times in his life.

Whenever his mother had been absent for long periods of time, he’d curled under a blanket and beneath his bed, waiting until Sam found him. Cried under its shroud after Sam had left for good and the reality of his rebellious act, driving a car over a cliff, hit him. Rubbed the blanket soothingly all over his body after Frank’s hands had been on him, in a futile effort to wipe out the imprint of abuse. On Tarsus, he’d given it away for others to use on chilly nights, where it’d been a tool for survival. In jail, he’d fought tooth and nail, breaking flesh and bone, all for the single thin, foul smelling blanket in the cell. And now, it’d turned into something simple that reminded him of Bones’s home. Jim’s only Terran home, in a sense, for he’d never go back to the farmhouse in Riverside. Not if he could help it.

Spock unfolded the second blanket and spread it over Jojo’s folded legs, an endearing gesture from the Vulcan.

She gripped the hem, twisting the fabric in her hands. “I don’t want you to be cold. I don’t want you to be sick anymore.”

Ever a McCoy, she wore a brave face. But he’d had practice seeing below the surface of that McCoy mask.

“Every day I get a little stronger, Jojo,” he assured her in a rasp.

“Not when you have...the in...the in…” She scrunched up her face.

“Injections?” Spock offered, eyeing Jim when he failed to speak up.

Jim’s mouth pressed into a firm line. He hadn’t wanted to correct Jojo. The less he said about those injections the better.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“The therapy is helping the captain, Joanna,” Spock said, eyes warm as he looked at her.

She blinked at him. “It doesn’t seem like it. Not when Uncle Jim can’t eat a big piece of chocolate cake like I can. Or play hide and seek like he used to, when we go into our hidey holes and no one can find us,” she said sadly.

Jim missed those days, the memories he used to make with Jojo. So he knew how much it hurt her.

“I know it doesn't, Jojo. It doesn't seem like it to me, sometimes, either,” Jim said hoarsely, wanting to be as honest as possible. “But I trust your dad, Jojo. And if he says things are improving, then they are.”

“Then...do you think we can play a game tomorrow?” she asked, eyes wide.

He hated to disappoint her.

“Maybe a card game,” he said carefully.

“Oh,” she whispered, face falling.

Jim felt even worse for getting her hopes up.

“Captain, would you care for a glass of Mrs. McCoy’s iced tea?” Spock asked.

The captain threw him. So did the question itself. Jim took a few seconds to find his voice. “I would, Spock. Thank you.”

Spock shifted lightly on his feet, poised to leave. Jim glanced at Jojo. She wouldn’t look at him now.

“What if Mister Spock joins us tomorrow?” Jim quickly suggested.

Spock paused and turned back around, hands calmly at his sides. Jojo peered at him from under her lashes.

“Spock?” Jim asked. “Feel up to playing poker with Jojo tomorrow?”

Jojo instantly giggled. “I don’t know how to play poker, Uncle Jim.”

“Oh,” he said, feigning disappointment. “Well, then. Go Fish?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded.

“I am not adverse to the idea,” Spock said.

“Count me in,” Bones drawled, coming out of nowhere, settling into the seat between Jim and Jojo.

He stretched out, long legs in front of him and arms across the top of the couch, across Jim’s shoulders. A wave of cologne wafted Jim’s way, the pleasing aroma obliterating all other thoughts except those about the man discreetly teasing the nape of his neck with his long fingers.

Had Bones left to freshen up for their date? Had he missed subtle cues and messages while focused on raising Jojo’s spirits?

He'd be missing a lot of things now that Bones seemed intent on doing the total opposite of what he'd said he'd be doing in the first place. Ignore Jim? Hardly.

Spock brought him tea and opted to stay nearby to get him anything else he might need. Once he'd taken a few sips, Bones tucked his hand under the blanket and intertwined their fingers.

Nora returned with his soup and a few minutes later. He let the soup cool while he watched the movie. That's what he told himself, anyway. He was really trying to summon up the nerve to eat again while everyone else enjoyed their own hot meal.

In the end, his soup cooled a little too much.

And he couldn’t eat it.

Jim stared down at the bowl in growing horror. He’d saved lives for fuck’s sake, space jumped twice, but he couldn’t eat his soup cold? It wasn't enough that he just couldn't eat, like before. He had to be sensitive to the damn temperature of his food? He couldn’t ask Bones to reheat it, could he? That idea alone was ridiculous. It was his own fault he’d allowed it to just _sit_.

Bones reached over and squeezed his hand. “Jim?” he whispered, anxious eyes searching his face. “Is it the food again?”

Jim clenched his jaw, not wanting to make another scene.

“Jim?” Bones asked again. When he didn’t answer, Bones began to pull the tray away. “We’ll try something else a little later.”

“Wait,” Jim said quickly, stopping him. “It just needs…it needs…”

It needed absolutely nothing. Maybe a little heat. He, on the other hand, he needed things to return to normal.

Spock was at Jim’s side before he could blink. He stared down at him. “It is too cold to eat,” he correctly assessed and picked up the tray of food. “I will warm it for you.”

Jim nodded numbly, not trusting his voice to express his gratitude.

“Thank you, Spock,” Bones said, wrapping an arm around Jim's shoulders, the other around Jojo.

Jim leaned into his best friend, drawing from his strength, relieved when no one said another word about the incident. When Spock returned with the soup, he managed to eat half of the given portion. It wasn’t enough by most doctors’ standards, but the look on Bones’s face told him it was more than satisfactory.

An hour into the movie, Jojo’s eyes closed. Her head fell heavily against her father’s shoulder.

“Time for bed, darlin’,” Bones murmured, tucking her under his arm.

“Nooo, wan’ you, Daddy,” she slurred, eyes squeezed shut.

“I'll be here tomorrow,” her father soothed.  
“Because of Uncle Jim,” she murmured tiredly. “He’s sick. You’ll be with him. Like Mommy is with Mister Clay. I think I’ll just play with Nana.”

The room erupted into silence.

Jim froze, not registering the frightfully anxious look Bones sent him. All he thought of was Jojo, the last person he wanted to hurt. He’d thought things were okay, that he was getting over the uncertainty that he was the third wheel and in the way, distracting Bones from his family.

Clearly, he’d been disillusioned. So taken in by Bones’s affection, caught up in these happy moments, it had all gone to his head.

The reality of his situation hit him again. It would be better for everyone if he returned to San Francisco, putting distance between them. Captain or no captain—because he certainly didn’t feel like one—he could at least solve this one problem.

He pushed aside the rising self pity and thought of the ones who mattered, making his decision.

“I’ll be on the porch.” Jim’s sullen voice was a shout in the quiet room.

“Jim, she’s only tired...” Bones began.

Jim shook his head to stop him and stood, smile small. It went beyond a seven-year-old’s bedtime. “Good night, Jojo,” he said warmly.

“Night, Uncle Jim,” she said, yawning as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Go Fish?”

He wasn’t sure he’d still be here tomorrow, but maybe he could squeeze in a game in the morning. “Sure.”

“Jim…” Bones began again.

There was a hint of apology in his voice, pleading in his eyes, but he ignored it. Bones didn't have to apologize for anything.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, nodding.

Bones hesitated but finally turned and took his daughter upstairs to her bedroom, Jojo’s arms hanging limply, already asleep in her father’s arms.

Back straight, shouldering the burden, Jim went his own way. He was aware he should have asked Bones for that mask he was to wear while he was outside. But he didn’t. If he’d be traveling back to San Francisco, the trip alone might send him into the hospital again, anyway. The lack of a mask shouldn’t matter much.

“Captain,” Spock said, standing at the doorway as Jim settled on the porch swing.

“Yes, Spock,” he said with a subdued sigh, unsurprised he’d followed him outside. He stared out at the darkened garden, the night dismal with the falling rain, his spirits careening.

“You do not have to leave,” Spock said, coming to stand beside the swing. “They do not wish for you to go.”

“Mind reader,” Jim muttered.

“I did not read your mind,” Spock hesitated, hands clasped behind him. “That is, not at this time.”

Jim grimaced. _The hallucination_. “Sorry about that.”

“It is not necessary to apologize. You could not control the situation.”

“You can’t tell me you really wanted to experience that all over again, Spock.” Jim, dying. Losing control behind the glass.

“It was rather unpleasant,” Spock said, blinking once. “However, I am accustomed to thinking on your death...quite often.”

 _Oh_.

Jim wanted to crawl under the swing and hide. Of course Spock would be reliving those moments, too. But he hadn’t really thought of that. If he had, he hadn’t thought about it hard enough. All this time, all these weeks, he’d been too caught up with his own strife to remember that of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” he said, truly remorseful.

“An apology is not necessary.”

“Yes, it is.” Jim whispered as loudly as he could. “I should apologize to you...Scotty. Uhura.”

Everyone.

Spock’s eyes were piercing. “You should not feel guilty, Jim. Your crew has seen counselors. They have all seen you.”

“It’s not the same. Being here isn’t the same.” How could he not feel guilty? He couldn’t help but question everything he did when it came to Bones and his family. Not to mention his crew, who meant more to him than he could say. Jim's shoulders curved forward. “I shouldn't be here. I should be where I can recuperate the fastest without anyone else around.”

Where he could begin thinking like a captain again. It seemed like his mind was constantly muddled, making him a fool where everyone else was concerned. The drug therapy keeping him in a damn bubble—and he was fucking tired of it.

“That is not what he wants,” Spock said gently. “And the crew understands your need for extended recuperation.”

“Maybe it’s what I want, Spock.”

Spock fell silent.

Jim shrugged and leaned back against the seat, using his feet to shift it backward. He let go to let it swing. “You never know, it may be what I even need to do to kick this shit.”

Apart. Alone. Away from the man that meant everything to him.

His thoughts turned a dark corner. He’d overcome the treatments but simultaneously die of loneliness.

“I have one request,” Spock said after a moment.

Jim eyed him. “Yes?”

Spock inclined his head. “Do not make a rash decision tonight. It would be—”

“Illogical?” Jim finished for him.

“Indeed.”

“I’m nothing if not illogical.” He felt like grinning and did.

Spock’s eyes softened. “You are the prime candidate for the five year mission.”

Jim stopped the swing short, heart in his throat.

He stared at Spock. “What did you just say?” he whispered.

If he didn’t know any better, Spock had just given him a well-played diversion.

“I was given classified information by Admiral Archer,” Spock explained. “You are the prime candidate for the mission in which you have shown great interest.”

“I can’t be,” he said, holding his breath.

“You are, Jim,” Spock said softly.

“Classified?” Jim asked numbly. “Archer told you, and now you’re telling me this classified information?”

Spock’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Indeed, the admiral was...carefree.”

“I'll say,” Jim could hardly believe it. “I’m not even halfway done with these treatments. My hands shake. I have these...episodes. PTSD. How can they be sure I’ll even be able to command a ship ever again?”

“Do you see yourself commanding a ship again?” Spock countered. “Do you want to?”

Did Scotty like whiskey? Sulu, his sharp and shining swords? Bones, his never-ending metaphors?

“Yes, to both questions,” he said honestly. “I do.”

He wanted to with his whole heart.

Spock inclined his head. “That is your answer...Captain.”

So it was. Jim offered him a smile. “Thanks, Spock.”

“I desire only to fulfill my duty as your first officer.”

“Only?” Jim said, teasing him. “You did come out here on a whim.”

“I value our friendship and that of Doctor McCoy. I value our friendship—together.” Spock broke his stance and walked to the edge of the porch, staring out into the darkness. “I did not come here on a whim.”

“No, I guess you didn’t,” Jim murmured, touched by his words. “You do know, though, that without you this evening would have ended a lot differently. We wouldn’t have had a chaperone,” he added lightly.

“You would be in the hospital,” Spock pointed out.

Jim leaned his head back against the swing. “He’s dangerous, Spock.”

“Thus, we must err on the side of caution,” Spock replied. “I will begin my investigation with Treadway, himself.”

“Be careful. Uhura would skin me alive if you get hurt.” Jim sighed, fighting back a yawn. “I will do what I can, maybe make a few contacts.”

He had several old buddies who owed him, who were not above making and following through with threats. Not that it would be his source of action now, but it wouldn't hurt to have a backup to Spock’s plan.

Spock’s eyes filled with displeasure.

“I can’t get hurt from my bed,” Jim scoffed, though he half-expected Spock to list at least a dozen ways in which he could, including suffocation or falling off or even boredom. “I can’t get hurt while I’m on the couch.”

“It is unlikely,” Spock said. “However, I must insist that you discuss your concerns with me before taking any action.”

“Agreed.” Jim would attempt to make a wise decision. An unselfish decision that was based not on his desire to fix Bones’s problem but on the concerns and needs of his friends.

He’d be an idiot not to see that his own health was at the top of their list. More was at stake than his own ego or selfish desires, as much as he hated to admit his own frailty.

Spock’s eyes brightened. “It is a wise choice,” he affirmed. “If you do not require company before the doctor is finished with Joanna, I will speak with Nyota before I retire for the night.”

“Go talk with Uhura. I’m perfectly fine,” Jim said, taking a deep breath. He’d missed just sitting on this porch, sitting anywhere to enjoy the outdoors. “I won't be staying out here long, anyway.”

“The doctor will not be pleased if you retire earlier than planned,” Spock said.

Jim relaxed his shoulders with a shrug. “Thanks to the therapy, I’ve been keeping him up at odd hours through the night. He needs sleep more than I do right now.”

One look at Spock was all Jim needed to know he found it hard to believe.

He fought a sigh. “I realize you might not agree with that, Spock. Yes, he’s had Nora to help some, but it hasn’t been easy on him. He should get a good night’s sleep since Jojo will be around all day tomorrow.”

“I am certain the doctor would appreciate your concerns, but it is not what he desires.”

Jim searched Spock’s face for some sign that the Vulcan was put off by the change in relationship between his captain and the chief medical officer, their friendship imbalanced. Instead, he found none. Spock had readily accepted it. Like he’d known all along.

“Fine. I'll stay,” he said reluctantly. “I'll wait for Bones.”

The Vulcan said nothing in reply. Worse, he could not read his face. That alone was unnerving.

“I won’t fuck this up like I’ve fucked up every other relationship in my life, Spock,” he said, tone dry.

“I did not mean to infer that you would,” Spock said, words soft and deliberate, as if to offer comfort. “I am merely pleased that the two people whom I hold in the highest regard have begun a relationship with each other.”

That one statement answered his questions. “I didn’t see this coming,” Jim admitted.

“It has been coming just the same,” Spock answered, straightening his shoulders and preparing to leave.

“You knew?” Jim asked. He had to ask. Had he and Bones been just...too immersed in themselves to notice?

“I suspected.”

“Oh,” Jim said, blinking at him several times. “And the others?”

“I cannot speak for them because I do not know,” Spock said simply.

“Right. Of course not,” Jim gave him a small smile. “Does that mean you haven’t told Uhura about…?”

He let the question dangle. Of course he hadn’t, not unless he’d told her in the last few hours.

“I have not,” Spock affirmed.

Jim’s brow furrowed. Uhura was far too intuitive. “She’ll know you’re hiding something if she asks specifically about our friendship and you give her a vague answer.”

Spock hesitated. “I would prefer truthfulness, yes.”

“I trust you both,” Jim stated.

“I will not elaborate on your relationship with Doctor McCoy unless I am specifically asked.”

“Is that the Vulcan code of honor?” Jim said in jest.

“Indeed.” Spock said, quirking a brow. “Excuse me, Captain.”

Jim nodded in acknowledgement. After Spock walked back into the house, he settled deeper into his spot on the swing until he found a somewhat comfortable place to rest his head. The next conversation was bound to put him between a rock and a hard place. He hoped Bones would understand and then agree that he would recover best in the hospital or alone at his apartment, after all. That they’d tried a different approach, but Jim had to go back.

He closed his eyes, giving in to the fatigue that had been settling deep into his marrow all evening.

“Hey,” a familiar voice nudged Jim’s eyes open.

He squinted up, confused. He’d thought he’d just closed his eyes a second ago but the weighted feeling he had throughout his body told him otherwise. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Bones winced. “Sorry to awaken you.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Not a problem.”

“Mind if sit with you?” Bones asked, expression unreadable.

Jim gave a short nod, barely restraining himself from scooting closer to Bones after he sat down beside him.

Neither spoke for a moment. The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, but neither was it awkward. Jim could tell Bones wanted to speak first, so he waited.

“Do not step one foot outside this house tomorrow, Jim,” Bones finally said, voice low. He set his jaw. “Or in a hovercraft.”

Jim took a sharp breath.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’,” Bones said stiffly. He carded a hand through his hair, glancing sideways at him. “Knew before Spock even said a single word to me.”

“Traitor,” Jim muttered.

“He just wants to help. I’ll chain your hide to your bed if I have to.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

Bones gave a dry laugh. “You really think it would be easier on me if you’re miles away and I’m here? Where all I can do is worry, never checking for myself how you are?”

Once again, Jim cursed his poor health that clouded his thinking. He shook his head. He couldn’t argue with that. “No,” he admitted.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Bones groused. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Jim muttered.

Through the darkness, the corners of the doctor's lips lifted. “You bet your ass you are.”

Jim laughed lightly. “Just so we agree on that one.”

“Sure do,” Bones drawled.

It still didn’t solve the biggest, most important problem. Jim’s presence was beginning to upset Jojo.

He threw caution to the wind. “I’ll stay in my room for the most part tomorrow,” he said. “I think...it might be best.”

“I see,” Bones said, eyes hardening. “And you want to do that _because_...?”

Jim looked away, finding some random outline of foliage in the darkness to focus on. He wanted to remain in his room for a lot of reasons. He’d be out of sight, for one. Out of mind, for another, at least for a little while.

But if Bones felt like he did, then he _couldn't_ get Jim out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

Had this been the reason Bones had actually brought him here? Had it been their friendship in general? Or the unresolved attraction getting the best of them both? The attraction that was now causing problems in Bones’s life?

_Treadway. Joanna._

If he hadn’t been so damn clingy in his apartment that one day, he’d still be there. In his apartment. In San Francisco. He was sure of it. But that wasn’t what had happened. He’d been selfish, practically twisting Bones’s arm to bring him along.

He rested his head back against the swing, seeing it all so clearly. He was the distraction he’d never wanted to be for Bones—but would always be.

“Jim?” Bones asked, eyes anxiously searching his face in the dim light of the porch.

Heart beginning to race, Jim braved to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue.

"Bones, why did you, really, bring me with you?" he asked. "I'm in the way, even here in Georgia."

Bones was quiet for several minutes. Jim’s lids drifted down as the porch swing hypnotically rocked back and forth, the hiss of gentle rain lulling him back to sleep. As his eyes closed, he heard Bones’s soft voice.

"You're not in my way, or anyone else's, Jim. You're here so I can remind you, once and for all, that I just can't leave you behind." Bones's husky voice slipped over Jim, countering the constant pattering of raindrops and beckoning a response.

With a voice like that talking just to him, what else was there to do but hang on to every word? Jim changed his mind about closing his eyes and opened them with the crazy hope that he wasn't reading into those words. That he wasn't a distraction—but something else.

He turned his head on the pillow to stare at his best friend. His intense gaze drew him in, not even the flash of lightning taking his attention away from this man.

His heart flipped as he lost himself in those eyes, just as he had so many other times before. Those words, the expression on Bones's face, they'd inferred far more than he had ever anticipated. And he hoped, desperately hoped, that he wasn't wrong.

Because if he was wrong, he would be left with a fractured heart to match the fragile state of his body.

"You, me," Bones said in the still-husky way that caused Jim’s heart to lurch, stopping any reply. "I'm not whole without you, Jim. I never was and I never will be. If Spock is right, and you get that five year mission like you've wanted—”

“He told you?” Jim interrupted, though he really shouldn't be surprised that he had.

“Yes,” Bones said. “Just before I came out. I won't let you go without me, Jim. And we both know that you have to go."

Jim's chest swelled with an overwhelming mix of emotion. Gratitude and relief, mixed with another. An emotion he was damn sure he'd never let himself feel for another human being in years but felt every time he thought of Bones.

"But you hate space," he forced himself to say.

Because if Bones had to retract his words, he'd give him all the opportunities he needed to do that. Just to make sure.

"Yeah, I do." Bones winced. "Especially now."

The words he’d said on that shuttle came back to Jim.

_Disease. Danger. Darkness. Silence._

Numbly thinking of the number of times he’d pounded into the core with his feet to realign it, he added another.

 _Separation_.

“But without you, I'd face more darkness than I care to know,” the doctor continued in a quiet voice. “I'd limp along, never living quite right.”

And so would Jim. He saw that now, more than ever.

"What about Jojo?" he asked, reaching for Bones's hand, the only way he knew how to actually comfort him at a time like this.

Bones’s warm hand engulfed his. “Just like she has to get used to Treadway being in her mother’s life, she has to grow more accustomed to you. Not that she isn’t used to you, God knows you’re her favorite, but things...are changing.”

“Treadway?” he asked.

Bones suddenly looked utterly and completely resigned. "I can't fight for her the way you want me to, Jim. For her sake, I can't," he admitted.

Jim had never heard him sound so sad. As if he’d truly given up. Lost all hope. It wasn’t the Bones he knew. But who was he to talk? He wasn’t the same, either.

"Maybe it's for the best,” Bones continued, rubbing his face. “Jocelyn will have her, and I'll be in the black."

Jim nodded although he didn't like Bones’s decision. Or agree with it.

"Treadway hinted that he knew you’d been...in trouble,” Jim hedged.

“I imagine if I yield my rights to Jojo, he’ll keep his mouth shut if he knows anything,” Bones said, face drawn tight. “And even if he doesn't know, I can’t antagonize him. He’ll only investigate more. It’s the only way that Jojo comes out of this unharmed.”

“She needs you, Bones.” Jim hated to even think of her living under Treadway’s roof. Or with a mother who was clearly not herself. Her father— _Bones_ —was the one who was the example of integrity. Courage. Perseverance. Compassion. All the things Jojo needed to see in her young life.

Bones shook his head. “She needs stability. Which she’d get if Jocelyn wasn't worried about me getting in the way. I don’t want Jojo to see my name—her _father’s_ name—dragged in the mud,” Bones said, glancing up at the sky. He looked deep in thought, moistening his lips with his tongue, taking his time to reply. “I don’t want things surrounding your death coming to public light, either. It'd only create more chaos. Hell, it’d cause an entire disastrous domino effect that we can’t get into.”

He was right about that, but Jim didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. And now that they were three again, he believed in them even less.

“If they knew the truth they might reconsider,” he suggested.

Bones looked at him, warning in his eyes. “You could really see Clay Treadway listening to what I had to say? Retracting his plan for sole custody? Jocelyn, too?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jim said slowly. “Depending on the pull Jocelyn has on Treadway, there’s a chance—”

“No, that man clearly wants to fight. It's too risky,” Bones said, shaking his head. “And I’m asking you, Jim, to not get yourself involved. In any of it. Please.”

Jim filled his lungs with as large a breath as he could take. That was asking a lot. His jaw clenched, the tension traveling downward and through his shoulders. This wasn’t a switch he could just could turn off. It was in his nature to be concerned about Bones and Jojo.

“Do you know what it’s like to have people hurting and the answers to stopping that right in front of you, but because you’re limited, because you’re stuck, you can’t do a damn thing about it?” he asked, his voice raspier than ever.

“This isn't your fault, Jim,” Bones said quietly.

“Isn't it?” he asked, drawing a sharp breath that was like a knife rising in his chest to his heart, causing liquid to pool in his eyes. Or was it the thought that'd he'd horrifically failed his best friend that brought the tears?

“No, it isn't. Their actions are their actions, Jim. Not yours.” Without warning, Bones turned his head and leaned forward. He kissed him before he could blink, taking his breath away as Bones claimed his lips with fervor. He _kissed_ Jim, curving his hand around his neck, urging him even closer. The kiss so purposeful and tender, it spoke more to him than words ever could. Wanting to enjoy it in its entirety, to experience the gentle but rising passion he sensed from Bones, he relaxed into it and gave back as much as he was given.

For this— _this between them_ —was perfect even if the world around them was not.

Bones broke away from Jim a moment later, all too soon. They were both breathless and in each other’s arms.

Bones’ fingers curled around Jim’s jaw, keeping him near. “I want my daughter, Jim. But I could never forgive myself if you got hurt again when you're still so ill,” he whispered fiercely, his eyes brimming with more emotion, more grief, worry, and urgency than Jim had ever seen from him before. Bones cared for him _that much_. “Not if you get hurt while you’re recuperating, putting your life on the line—and I'm the cause for it. I can’t even begin to explain what that would do to me. It would...it...” Bones faltered, not bothering to wipe away the tears caught in creases of his crow’s feet. “Please, Jim.”

It was then that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his hands were tied.

He had to give it over completely to Spock. Everything.

“Alright,” Jim relented softly. “Alright, Bones. I'll stay out of it. You have my word.”

“Okay,” Bones nodded.

They stared at each other. Awareness passed through them, a realization of the other’s new reality, their feelings beyond any explanation. Not that words could have ever conveyed the answer he wanted to give in return. So he slid closer in their shared silence, resting his head against Bones’s shoulder as the rain slowed to a fine mist that sprayed on their faces.

Bones gathered the blanket and spread it over them both, then wrapped his arm securely around Jim. They found contentment with each other like they had so many other times before.

He wasn't sure, he was too tired to think straight now, but he didn't think he'd felt this safe— _this loved_ —in a long time.

If ever.

 

oOo

  

They didn’t stay on the porch much longer after that. Jim had nodded off much like Joanna had earlier, right against his shoulder. “Time to go inside, Jim,” McCoy murmured.

“Not yet,” Jim mumbled.

“You’re worse than Jojo,” McCoy complained, smiling on the inside.

He nudged him awake with his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, keeping his arms around him in order to haul him into the house.

“May I be of assistance?” Spock asked, once they’d crossed through the doorway to the kitchen.

“Get the door,” McCoy said gruffly.

Only his mother would keep an antique door going out to her porch. Some days, he couldn’t believe his mother had allowed ANY improvements they’d made to the old place.

Spock closed the door behind him, Jim lifting his head briefly to mumble a slurred, “‘Night, Spock.”

“Good night, Jim,” Spock said. A polite reply for Jim’s sake, for he followed them straight down the hallway.

“Lights twenty percent,” McCoy ordered the computer once they’d reached the bedroom. He was grateful for the extra help to get Jim on the bed, the younger man’s dead weight, asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

Spock stood apart, a distressed look on his face if McCoy ever saw one on a Vulcan. “Is he this unwell?” he asked, so softly, as if to himself. McCoy had barely heard him.

“Today was better than yesterday,” he said quietly, taking Jim’s shoes off. “Which was better than even two weeks ago.”

They were making progress, but to anyone else it must seem like Jim was still the same. But progress was progress. And he wouldn’t discount any of it.

He was almost taken aback when Spock covered Jim with the quilt, but thanked him quietly for doing so. He’d check the catheter later, but first—he had to have a little chat with Spock. “Let's talk outside.”

“A logical request,” Spock replied, following him once again.

Once the door was closed, McCoy didn't mince words. “He’s not leaving and he promised me he wouldn’t get involved. That means you have to do everything you can to keep him out of this so we don’t undo every damn thing we’ve worked so hard for,” he finished, pointing a finger at Spock in the heat of the moment. “His health can’t take it.”

“Then we are in agreement, Doctor.”

“Good.” McCoy’s shoulders folded forward. “I have to confess, I have to call it a night, too. I’ll stay down here for awhile, make sure Jim actually sleeps.”

“Very well,” Spock said, turning on his heel.

McCoy caught him by the fabric of his sleeve, stopping him. “Help yourself to anything, Spock. If we’re not up in the morning, just make yourself at home. On days like this, my Mama and Jojo have a habit of sleeping in. And Jim...I’m not going to push him out of bed.”

“Understood. Thank you, Doctor.”

“And Spock…” McCoy hesitated. “Thank you. For everything.”

The Vulcan gave him the barebones of a smile before he left. “You are welcome.”

 

oOo

 

McCoy was a light sleeper when it came to Jim, and it was a good thing. An hour after his own eyes had closed he was awakened by a cry. He sat up and turned to his partner on the bed. Jim had broken out in a sweat, his shirt and part of the sheet soaked. Chest heaving, his eyes were wide as he stared up at the ceiling. But there was no recognition. Only pure panic. Jim’s arms flailed, smacking McCoy in the face, his comm simultaneously alerting him of a new message.

 _Dammit_. Face stinging, he grimaced, holding the younger man’s arms down.

“No,” Jim cried out.

“Hey, Jimbo, it’s me. Bones. You’re okay,” he soothed, staring straight into Jim’s eyes as he struggled. “We are all okay.”

Jim’s baby blues looked past him. He cried out again, lifting his shoulders off the bed with surprising strength.

McCoy tightened his hold. “Jim, you’re right here. With me. In Georgia. You remember that garden, don’t ya? That my mother still grows, just for you?”

The words seemed to catch Jim’s attention. He sucked in a series of hasty breaths, blinking several times, gaze finally focusing on McCoy.

“It was just a nightmare, Jim,” he said softly.

Jim abruptly sank back onto the bed, chest still heaving, face twisted in confusion.

“You’re okay, Jimbo,” McCoy murmured. “Lights, twenty percent.”

“B-Bones?” Jim whispered. He closed his eyes, licking his lips. “Wh-where…?”

“You had a nightmare, Jim. You’re at my Mama’s house,” he answered, stroking his forehead. “Wrapping her around your finger. Spock, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work your magic as well as you have today.”

“Oh,” Jim glanced up at him and winced. “R-right. G-garden. I kn-knew that. I just...I was…I...”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know where you were.”

“I’m f-fine now,” Jim said hurriedly, still stammering. His cheeks flushed more, as if from embarrassment. “S-Sorry to wake you.”

“I was born to do this, don’t you know?” he said lightly, clasping his hand.

Jim gave a short, self-decrepitating laugh. “Not sleeping?”

McCoy’s hand stilled on his forehead. “Watching over you.”

“I don’t...I don’t know if I can go back to sleep,” Jim whispered. “If I want to.”

McCoy squeezed his hand. “I have just the thing. Hold on.”

He let go and went to the dresser where his bag was, immediately pulling out his supply of sedatives. He chose the lowest dosage that still usually worked for Jim, only half-hearing the second chime sounding from his comm.

“You have to sleep, Jim,” he said, eyeing him carefully once he returned to the bed. “And I should’ve given you this earlier.”

“It’s like you said. Not your fault,” Jim whispered, staring up at him with an expression full of trust.

“Throwing my words back at me?” he groused. “Figures, smart ass.”

Jim smiled weakly as he administered the hypo. He was out like a light in five seconds. After switching out the sheet, McCoy tucked the quilt back around the sleeping man the way he preferred. All was dark and quiet, Jim no longer restless, but he still didn’t allow himself to fall asleep.

He grabbed the comm and nestled closely against the warm body beside him. He frowned at the screen. Not one but two messages had come through.

The first was from Jocelyn, as he’d expected. He didn’t want to read it tonight, but his curiosity got the best of him. He had to read it, lest it was an emergency.

Dread curdled in his stomach as soon as he read the first line.

_Sorry you had to find out about Clay this way, Len. We're getting married._

He shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was. He forced himself to continue.

_Next month. About Joanna. Don’t fight us. You know you’ll only make it harder for her._

Heart racing, he then read the very last communication. The one he must have received while he’d been distracted, preparing a sedative for Jim.

The same dread he’d felt earlier—that he’d stuffed down for Jim’s sake, for Jojo’s sake, for Spock's, for his Mother—now returned ten-fold. Stealing away his happiness and any hope he might have had left.

Because it was not from Jocelyn. It was identifiable only by his initials, CT. Treadway.

The numbers on his screen were like another sentence, handed to him by another judge.

 _1448_.

The numbers squeezed the breath out of him as he relived the past months and weeks. To stave off more emotional pain, he dropped the comm on the floor in resignation and wrapped his arm around Jim’s waist.

It was all he could do not to lash out in hopelessness. Instead, he held the sleeping man to him like he was the last thing he had on this earth.

And because of Treadway. And Jocelyn. Because he’d broken his medical oath by saving Jim, Jim would very likely be the only thing he’d be able to salvage out of his life.

He buried his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, a muted sob caught in his throat. He squeezed the tears back, stifled the cry of protest and loss as if his life depended on it.

Treadway. He knew. How did he know? _What_ did he know?

_Fourteen forty-eight hours._

It was a time one might find in Jim’s medical records. Written in his patient's records, by his own hand. He would never forget it. Other than a select few, no one was supposed to know its significance

Eyes wet, he curled his hands into Jim, the man he loved. The man who’d been worth every bit of it.

This was a threat from Treadway. He couldn't let it slide. He'd have to speak with Jocelyn first thing in the morning. If they knew anything, anything at all, even coming _close_ to knowing he'd broken law after law after law after…

He swallowed with effort, his shallow, labored breath hot on Jim’s neck. He'd do what he had to do. He'd first acknowledge that their suspicions were correct. He was hiding something.

Then, he’d do the only thing he had _left_ to do. He’d let his daughter go in order to save both her and Jim.

Such irony. His life was full of it. Beginning with his father. Continuing its merry way with Jim.

_Fourteen forty-eight hours._

No one knew that time better than he did. It was a specific time. Terrifying. Exact.

Something he'd never, ever forget.

_1448._

The moment Jim’s dead, frozen heart began to beat for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lost most of my original end note here and forgot all I said. :D No matter. Will just try again without rambling so much. :) Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I enabled comment moderation but rest assured, if you comment, your review will be published! I will definitely reply to them when I can!
> 
> I am no longer on Tumblr. Someone did pick up my username, however. Please don't send "me” a note there - it actually ISN’T me at all. :) You can reach me here for now. If you wish to speak to me privately, I'll give you my separate AO3 email.
> 
> If you’re wondering about Down the Savage Mountain, you have no idea how badly I want to update that story. But because I wish to remain in the headspace for THIS story, make sure it’s my focus for awhile, I won’t be continuing DtSM quite yet. I do have every intention of returning to it someday. The spark to continue is definitely there. :)
> 
> Thank you, again, for being so patient. Until next time! XO.


	10. you're a hard man to withstand (southern man)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you are all enjoying your summer. I have a few things to say, but I’ll try to make it quick so you can get to reading. :) Since Beyond is just around the corner, I thought it would be a good idea to finish this fic before then. Part of me is concerned that interest in this story will drop off. That said, I have replotted a little, so this fic won’t be as long as I originally intended. Not that I will be rushing, just tweaking a few things. I do hope to have at least three or four more updates before the new ST movie. So no, it won’t be done but we’ll definitely move forward a lot faster since I have a little more time on my hands to write now that summer is here! If you are a long-suffering and patient reader - haha- thank you from the bottom of my heart! I hope I can make this fic well worth your while from now on to the end. We are gearing up for some huge scenes that I hope to reach by the time Beyond is in theaters. (BTW, the new trailer is amazing!)
> 
> In honor of Karl Urban’s birthday last week, I joined [Tumblr](http://arrowinthesky.tumblr.com) again, as arrowinthesky. :) Feel free to follow me and I will follow back. Now, I will warn you that I won’t be on very much, but summer gives me a little extra time to look for Jim & Bones content. :) I’ll try to give writing updates, post things in relation to the fics I’m writing, and so forth.
> 
> I will be posting a 'surprise' later today. :D I hope it piques your interest! If you like to read hurt!McCoy - with a touch of badassery - and AUs, it just might. 
> 
> I've been dabbling in present tense lately, but not for this story. Good thing I have wonderful betas. :) They caught on to the few times I mixed my tenses. Thank you, Junker5, plumeria47, and Diamondblue4! I’m more encouraged about my writing knowing you have my back. I’m so appreciative of your critiques and encouragement, your comments that have improved this fic and inspired me. You are all very generous to devote some of your precious time to this story.
> 
> On to Chapter 10! My bigger plan will start to unfold with this update. We’re getting to the climax of this story in just a handful of chapters. I am so excited to hear what you have to say. Literally on the edge of my seat! New things are about to happen! I hope you enjoy the read!

 

Jim’s legs pumped beneath him in proper running form as he made his way around the newly renovated track at the Academy.

Being here brought back good memories of when his body had been even stronger than it was now. He’d missed the freedom. He’d missed the wind in his hair, the feeling that he was in control of his life. Now that he was done with the injections, he wasn't so dependent on others—on doctors, nurses, therapists, even Spock. He could finally take a few steps on his own without Bones breathing down his neck.

It was just like old times. Running a full mile had never felt so good. Running two miles had never been better.

He ran another quarter mile, his body beginning to crave more distance and speed in response to the memories of racing here in the past. He felt strong enough to pick up the pace, but he couldn’t help but slow down after he rounded the south end of the track. A dark-haired man stretched by the track, presenting a fine view of his backside. His hair stuck out in tufts as if he’d just rolled out of bed, the scruff on his face indicating he’d had no time to shave. Which might be true, given this particular doctor had been burning the candle at both ends lately.

Jim grinned to himself. Just when he’d thought his jaunt around the track couldn’t get any better, Bones had decided to run, too.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Jim called out as he approached Bones.

His voice attracted the attention of three students near Bones, who glanced at them in interest. Thanks to Archer, Spock, and Bones, Jim had managed to avoid a great deal of public scrutiny since his ‘resurrection.’ That would be changing as he made more appearances like this, his face recognizable to everyone frequenting this track, other areas on campus and HQ that he would continue to visit in the months to come as he picked up his responsibilities again. Unlike two months ago, Jim was now ready to face it.

“Some of us have work to do, you know,” Bones muttered, barely looking up. “We don't all wake up with time on our hands.”

Jim soon passed him and turned to jog backwards, watching Bones’s muscles strain against his clothing.

“That’s not my fault,” he quipped. “My doctor won’t let me do anything.”

Bones straightened, his eyes quickly passing over him. “Speaking of that. Don’t overdo today, Jim.”

“I’ve never felt better,” he said honestly.

A doubtful look crossed Bones’s face.

“Really,” Jim assured him.

“Better stop after another lap or two,” Bones advised, bending over to continue stretching.

“Only if you can catch me,” Jim said playfully. He pivoted on his heel, darting off.

Jim expected him to catch up fairly quickly, but the doctor didn’t. He didn’t catch up to him at all. Though confused as to why Bones was taking so long, he didn’t turn his head back to see where he was. He waited until he turned the corner again before trying to spot Bones among the dozen or so runners on the track.

His gaze darted between athletes younger than him, in better shape, too. He couldn't find Bones on the track and glanced over to where he’d been stretching. He thought he saw him in his blue t-shirt and gray shorts, that messy hair of his, but he second-guessed himself.

A woman stood beside Bones, holding his hand. The same hand that Jim had held while they’d cuddled in bed that very morning.

Jim stumbled.

“Hey, man, watch out,” a younger man exclaimed near him, stopping his own run to catch him by the arm. His eyes widened in recognition. “Sorry, sir. _Captain_. I didn’t know it was you. Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

Jim wavered on his feet before finding his balance.

“I-I’m fine,” he said, offering him a strained smile. “Thank you for stopping me from falling flat on my face.”

He tried to laugh, but his humor fell short.

The man looked at him warily. “Captain, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir, maybe you shouldn’t be running.”

Jim’s eyes flitted from the man to Bones then back to the man, who was chewing on his lip, waiting for him to speak up.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just a little tired. I’ll stop soon.”

“If you’re certain, Captain,” the man said reluctantly.

He released Jim’s arm and jogged away, leaving Jim to stare back in confusion at Bones and the woman, who were now brushing shoulders.

The couple took a seat on a bench by the track, heads together as if they were in a deep conversation. Their fingers threaded together in an intimate way, indicating that their relationship was serious.

He tried to maintain his previous stride, but his legs were like bricks, almost impossible to move. There was no mistaking Bones’s profile, the stubborn lock of hair falling forward, the lopsided smile. There was no mistaking the well-dressed, poised woman, either.

Bones—and Jocelyn? It didn’t make sense.

He slowed to a jog. When Bones leaned over to kiss her, Jocelyn responding passionately, he completely stopped.

That was a lovers’ kiss if he ever saw one.

He heard shouts around him to get away, but he couldn’t move. He stood, legs and heart too heavy, his world crashing around him. His vision tunneled until all he could see were _them_.

Bones? Cheating on Jim? Or, worse, cheating on Jocelyn?

It was his worst nightmare come true. He breathed raggedly, the shock and hurt overwhelming. He ran his hand over his eyes, wiping away the sudden wetness there. How could Bones do this to him? Had anything between them since he’d recovered been real?

Had Bones been lying to him this entire time?

His heart stopped when Bones kissed her fully on the lips a second time.

Jim threw up in his mouth. The scene mimicked the many times Bones had kissed him, even the way his hand reached up to tenderly cup Jocelyn’s jaw. The peaceful look on her face reminded Jim of the feeling he had when Bones loved him by simply giving him his full attention.

Like the attention he was giving Jocelyn.

Nausea rising in his throat, he walked unsteadily to the side of the track. Hunching over, he spit into the grass and stole another glance at the couple who, by all appearances, looked like they were together.

Movement behind them caught his eye. He straightened as a child came bounding out of nowhere. He immediately recognized her to be Joanna. She ran up to her mother and father, looking up at Bones with adoration and beaming with delight, like she did when they were at Eleanora’s.

Bones smiled back and lifted her into his arms. Joanna slipped her arms around his neck, squeezing it in her excitement. He spoke in her ear, but Jim was too far away to know what he said. Joanna seemed to understand, though, and nodded. Bones glanced over at Jocelyn. He didn’t smile, but Jim recognized the emotion in his eyes.

 _Love_.

He couldn’t breathe. What was happening? Bones didn't love Jocelyn. Did he?

Jocelyn leaned her head on Bones’s shoulders, something Jim had never pictured the woman ever doing. She never displayed affection in public. But here she was, running her hand along Bones’s arm.

The three looked like a family once again. Content, whole - and utterly perfect.

Too perfect.

Jim squared his shoulders. His heart had been hollowed out in seconds, Bones wrenched from its center without warning when he’d kissed Jocelyn. But, maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was just an illusion. His drug therapy had ended only two months ago. He could still be seeing things, couldn’t he? His PTSD occasionally came out of nowhere. He wasn’t altogether over it. He could be having another hallucination. If he’d listened to Bones, this wouldn’t have happened. He should have taken things a little easier today, just like the doctor had suggested.

Convincing himself this was the case, he walked towards them, unsteadily but determined. He was a captain, wasn’t he? And, at the very least, Bones’s friend. He stopped just several feet away from them and took a deep breath.

“Bones?” Jim asked, making his presence known. “Thought you were going to join me for a run.”

Bones scowled. “Kid, not today. I’m busy.”

Jim’s heart pounded in his chest. Bones would never say that to him. He’d never just brush him off. What was going on?

“Kid, huh? Well, okay,” he said, swallowing nervously, trying to give him the benefit of a doubt. “Another day, then.”

“No,” Bones said, standing up with Joanna in his arms. “Won’t be another day, either.”

“I…” Jim’s stomach rolled. He hated that he even had to ask Bones what was going on, but he had to know. “Why...why not?”

Bones’s eyes flashed with irritation. “It’s not that hard to figure out, Jim.”

He wrapped his free hand around Jocelyn’s waist, pulling her close. Kissing her again. Right in front of everyone at the track. In front of Jim.

The world around him tipped on its side, as if he were on a boat, sailing across a stormy, ruffled sea. Jim wanted to dive overboard and find land. Walk on solid ground. Wake up from this nightmare.

This couldn't be happening.

“I...see,” he croaked. “You should’ve told me Bones...this morning.…”

Bones’s eyes narrowed suspiciously on him. “This morning? I was with them, Jim. Maybe you should contact Doctor Boyce.”

“Boyce?” Jim asked, knots growing in his stomach that Bones had even suggested he see another doctor. “Why?”

“He’s your doctor now, Jim,” Bones said, looking even more irritated. “We’ve gone over this before. You’re not supposed to follow me.”

They’d never gone over that at all. And he wasn’t following Bones. He got here first.

Jim scratched his head. “Boyce can’t be my doctor. You’re my doctor,” he argued. “You’re my CMO.”

“No, I’m not, not anymore,” Bones said, shaking his head. “Jim, you better see him. You’re clearly having trouble, again. You can’t be bothering me now, remember?”

Jim blinked at him, unable to think of a proper reply. Bones didn’t make sense. Since when did he ask Jim to stop bothering him? What did he mean by having trouble again?

“You were in the psych ward, Jim,” Bones said deliberately, as if he were talking to a child. “After Khan. For months. Eight, to be exact.”

Jim turned his head, looking at him suspiciously. He could've been in the psych ward. He recalled being in the hospital a lot. Weeks, at the very least. He also knew he’d had those hallucinations.

Jim swallowed thickly, drawing a blank about other details. Why couldn't he remember anything else about his time recuperating? Was Bones right?

Had Bones been a figment of his imagination this entire time?

His heart pounded in his ears like a steady drum, blocking the sound of runners around them. Maybe he was unstable. It would explain a lot. All the difficulty he’d had. The inability to move forward. Was he...stuck?

Jim gulped.

As in...stuck in his own world?

“Honey, let’s go,” Jocelyn urged Bones, glancing furtively at Jim. “Your mother wanted us home for dinner. He’s no longer your concern. It’s not good for you to have contact with him.”

“You’re right,” Bones said quietly. “Let’s go.”

He turned around and walked away without another word to Jim, his arms tucked firmly around his daughter and wife.

Jim almost couldn’t watch, heartache building up in his chest. Bones was just leaving? Without an explanation? Accusing him of being a psych patient who stalked him?

“Bones!” he pleaded, using every ounce of strength he had to stop him. He needed to know the truth. The facts. “Please...I don’t...don’t understand. What’s going on? Please don’t leave me, Bones.”

Bones looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Jim, leave me alone. I have my family now, and you just have to begin accepting that.”

“But, you can’t do this. I love you, Bones.”

Bones pulled himself up to his full height. “You love me?”

Jim felt faint. Didn’t Bones know that already?

“That’s too bad,” Bones said flippantly. “Because I don’t love you, Jim.”

Stunned, Jim took a step back. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“I do mean it,” Bones said coldly. “You need to leave, Jim.”

Knees shaking, he couldn't find his footing. He sank to the ground and hunched over in his grief, bracing himself with his arms. “Bones…” he said brokenly, shaking his head in confusion. “Bones…no….please.”

“Haven’t I made it clear enough?” Bones barked. “Dammit, Jim! I don’t love you!”

Tears poured from Jim’s eyes, the hurtful words ripping his heart out. His throat grew thick, nearly closing.

The light snuffed from his life, a moan rose from his chest. “No,” he whimpered, clasping his arms around his middle as he rocked back and forth on the ground.

Bones turned away with a disgusted look on his face.

“Please, Bones,” Jim begged hoarsely, finding his voice as if his life depended upon it.

And it did. How could he live without Bones? He’d be aimless without him. Dead before his prime.

“Don’t leave me,” he whined helplessly. “Don’t, please, Bones. _Please_.”

Bones stopped in his tracks and spun around, his family—Joanna and Jocelyn—suddenly way in the distance, along the horizon. “It’s what you wanted, Jim. Remember? Me, Jocelyn, Joanna. For us to be a family. For me to have Joanna back.”

“I…” Jim blinked. That was all true, at least about Joanna. “I know I w-wanted you to have Joanna back, but th-this wasn’t what I meant to happen.”

“Wasn’t it?” Bones asked indifferently.

“No!” Jim blurted. “I need you, Bones.”

Bones frowned. “Joanna needs me, too. And Jocelyn. They need me more.”

“And me?” Jim whispered fearfully.

Bones grew quiet.

“What about...us?” he asked again.

“There is no ‘us,’” Bones said. “You got your wish, Captain. I have Joanna and that’s the end of it,” he added, jaw set. “Leave me alone, Jim. You have to move on.”

With that, Bones and his family disappeared into thin air.

He stared at the empty spot in front of him, willing Bones to come back.

“No,” he cried feebly. “No. This...this can’t happen. Bones, come...come back…come...back.”

He scrambled to his feet, spinning around on his heel, scanning all around to find them. But it was as if they’d truly vanished.

“Bones?”

His hands tore through his hair, digging his fingers in his scalp in his confusion. The track was gone. The people. The Academy. Everything.

Everyone.

“No, no...this can’t be happening,” he said, panic-filled words tumbling out of his mouth. “No no no. Where is he? Where is he, dammit!”

Jim stumbled across the grass, dumbfounded that he was all alone. Soon he succumbed to the heartache, to the sob swelling in his chest, and sank back to his knees in the grass. It was freshly cut, reminding him of new beginnings, which reminded him of Bones. He breathed in the scent, heart void of the one person he’d love until his very last breath.

“Bones, please,” he pleaded, cupping his mouth as he implored one more time. “Don’t leave! Bones! Bo—”

He cut off as someone shook him, their hands on his shoulders, on his face, yelling in his ear. “Jim, I’m right here. It’s Bones. I promise.”

“Come back, Bones. Please!” he begged, ignoring them. Nothing mattered but getting Bones back. “Don’t leave me...don’t...”

“Jim, listen to me,” the voice urged. “I’m here. Right here.”

Someone gripped his shoulders, trapping him in a vise.

He wheezed, struggling against the powerful hold.

“Jim! Listen to me! Dammit! You’re having a nightmare again. You need to wake up!” a worried voice cried in his ears. “Your body can’t handle more stress like this. Please, Jim.”

Someone slapped his face. Face stinging, Jim didn’t think. He opened his eyes and shot up out of bed and hit the floor, dragging his body across it and back against the wall.

Breath escaping in stuttered, forceful gasps, he gaped at the disheveled, frightened man kneeling on the bed. Bones stared back at him with wide, anxious eyes, his chest rapidly rising and falling as if he’d been at the track, running.

Neither spoke for a moment.

With a fist at his mouth, Bones stared at Jim like he was going to disappear, too.

Jim finally sucked in a much needed, larger breath, the wall at his back grounding him. He welcomed the new pain he felt in his groin. It meant he was back in this world, not the crazy one he’d just imagined.

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones said, voice quaking. “That was the worst nightmare you’ve had yet. I’m sorry about...about slapping you...but it went on for some time and your vitals were dangerously off.”

Another nightmare? That meant he’d had two in one night.

He made a small noise at the back of his throat, wrapping his shaking hands around his knees the best he could as he sat, his back against the wall. It was a futile effort. He couldn’t clasp them together and he dropped them to the floor, instead.

With a heavy sigh, Bones hung his head. “Jim, what had you yelling so much?”

Jim almost didn’t tell him. It sounded pitiful, even to him.

“Jim?” Bones prompted quietly.

“You l-left m-me,” he whispered before his courage faded just like Bones had.

Bones’s head snapped up. “That will never happen.”

Another pathetic noise slipped from Jim’s throat. He’d never seen anything so clearly in his entire life. Bones had told him to take a hike. A permanent one.

Bones’s eyes softened. “Not even in a damn nightmare.”

Jim wanted Bones to do more than placate him and send him a warm look. He wanted to be held and comforted like a child.

But he wouldn’t ask for that.

He wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t grovel like he had in his nightmare.

“But it d-did happen,” he said, choking through a sob. He brought his hand up to wipe his eyes, his cries soon coming to a stop. “It was r-real, Bones. You got Jojo back, Joce, too. You were together again. The perfect family. You left me for them. Like it should be.”

Bones stared at him quietly for a moment, the words echoing hauntingly in the room.

Jim rubbed his eyes again, wondering why he’d even added the sentence at the end. He wished he could take it back. As Bones continued to watch him, his expression growing more thoughtful with each passing second, he wished he could take it all back.

Finally, Bones sighed and made his way off the bed. Jim watched him with apprehension, unsure how he was going to handle his bad reaction, which had placed him in a vulnerable position on the floor and against the wall. Would he make him talk to the therapist again today? Would this be enough for Bones to admit him into the hospital again? Did it prove that he was completely mentally incompetent? That even the simplest stressors sent him out of control? That he could crash if he didn’t have additional, professional help?

“Not going to happen,” Bones muttered. He grabbed his tricorder on the nightstand by the bed. “Especially the bit about Joce. I burned that bridge long before you came along. I’m with _you_ , Jim, not her. I can hardly stand being in the same room with her. Besides, she’s getting married.”

“What?” Jim asked, bewildered. “Married?”

Treadway? Jojo’s new stepfather?

“Sent me a text about it late last night,” Bones explained.

The discomfort swelled in his groin, becoming a stronger pinch than he’d ever felt there before. “She-she did? What else did she say?”

He shifted his body, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, wincing when moving only aggravated the feeling.

Bones’s face flooded with concern. “Jim, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he rushed over and knelt on the floor beside him.

“Ahh,” Jim hissed. “Nothing.

Bones inspected him up and down with the tricorder. Soon, his expression turned grim.

“It’s not ‘nothing.’ This little event pulled on the catheter,” he muttered. “You're lucky it wasn't ripped out all the way out as you scooted yourself around on the floor.”

Jim leaned his head back on the wall, pushing up with his back muscles, attempting to lessen the pressure, the burning sensation creeping into his groin.

Bones grasped his arm. “We need to get you on the bed so I can remove it,” he said, eyes soft. “On the count of three, okay?”

Jim nodded.

“One, two...three.”

Bones heaved him to his feet. He couldn’t help but groan as he was guided to the bed. All he could think about was the irony of the situation. It felt like he was being led to his death. To be sacrificed, starting with his dick. It didn’t work right, anyway, and at the moment, felt like it never would. In fact, it was useless. Maybe for good.

Jim snorted. It figured that dying-then-living would stop him from having sex. Stop him from being able to even control his own bladder. Stop him from functioning like the man he thought he was.

Bones grunted. “What’s so damn funny? Can’t be this.”

“I can’t look...at myself,” Jim stopped to hiss, his vision whitening from the pain. “Ungh…”

“You don’t need to talk,” Bones soothed, stopping them for a moment. “Take a breath, Jim.”

“No, I...Ungh,” he moaned. Bones looked doubtfully at him. “I do. I can’t even look at myself the same way,” he finished with a dry laugh. “It’s...it’s not.…”

“Not... _what_?”

“Not me.” He grimaced. “It’s weird and...more weird.”

“Drama queen,” Bones said, scowling. He began moving them again. “It won’t be this terrible forever, Jim, even though it feels like it. You will function like before.”

“You hope,” Jim mumbled. “You’re probably already planning that day in your head.”

He knew _he_ was.

He glanced sideways at Bones when he didn't answer. Maybe he was overthinking things, but it looked like he agreed and was now contemplating more than just being his doctor. Bones’s mouth twitched up at the corners, but he didn’t say a word.

He was mute with a side of smug.

The bastard.

“This…sucks,” he panted, fighting the urge to squeeze his legs shut and ignore this issue altogether.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Bones said, helping him to sit on the edge of his bed. “But we’ll take the catheter out, see how you do without it.”

He stretched out uncomfortably on the bed, allowing Bones to manipulate his body to where he wanted it to be. He bunched the quilt beneath him in his hands to keep himself from pushing the doctor away, stopping the process.

Bones put on gloves then tugged on the waist of Jim’s pajama pants. “Breathe, Jim,” he cautioned, watching him carefully. “I won’t continue unless you do.”

“Justtellmewhenhe’llworkagain,” he garbled.

Bones snorted, deftly pulling down Jim’s pants. “Unless we can cluster these injections closer together, not until they’re finished. Six weeks, at the least.”

“Just great,” he muttered. His head lolled to the side, watching Bones. “You’re pretty efficient at that, taking my pants off,” he joked, taking his mind off the longevity of his condition.

In other words, deflecting.

Bones rolled his eyes and guided Jim’s legs into a butterfly position. “Relax,” he stressed, placing his hand on the inside of his knee. He paused, catching his eye. “Breathe.”

Jim stared at him, holding eye contact as he expelled a long breath. Breathing didn’t help much, in his opinion. It just made everything worse. He was a tactile person and the nightmare had heightened his awareness of his body. He felt the pressure and warmth of Bones’s fingers on the sensitive areas of his leg, the ridges of the handmade quilt against his back, the painful tug of the catheter.

It was his own damn fault that this hurt like a bitch again. But he never woke up from nightmares gracefully, either.

“You’ll feel some discomfort, but it won’t last,” Bones warned. “I’m going to deflate the-”

A knock sounded at his door. Bones paused and looked at him.

“Expecting a visitor this early in the morning?” he asked, arching a brow.

Jim shook his head.

Bones looked doubtfully at him. “You need to talk about it?”

Did Bones always have to be so perceptive?

“No.”

Of course he didn’t want to talk about the fact he’d been in the loony bin for eight months in his nightmare without Bones.

“Okay,” Bones began. “I’m willing to li—”

There was another rap at the door.

Bones strangled out a frustrated sigh. “Hold on. I’ll make this quick.”

He lifted the corner of a sheet and spread it over Jim’s legs and waist to cover him before walking to the door. Body tense, Jim locked his arms tightly behind his head as he waited.

Bones barely cracked open the door. “Spock,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Is the Captain well?” Spock asked, coughing once.

Jim’s brows knit together. Spock actually sounded unsure of himself. Even...worried.

“I should be asking you that question, Spock,” Bones said in his “doctor” voice. “You look...and sound...tired.”

“I am adequate, merely concerned that the Captain is…” Spock’s voice faded. “Are you well, Doctor McCoy?”

Bones hesitated. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

There was a pause.

Jim would give anything to see the odd, measuring looks that were no doubt passing between them.

Bones scratched his head. “Spock, really. I’m fine.”

Though it jarred his groin, Jim lifted himself up on his elbows. He tried to peer past Bones’s shoulders to get a glimpse of Spock’s face, wondering if he looked as worried as he sounded.

“You are concerned about Jim,” Spock said.

“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black,” Bones muttered.

“Indeed, I am...relieved we are in agreement, Doctor.”

Bones sighed. “What’s this about, Spock? I have Jim in a vulnerable position -”

He did? Jim smirked to himself. When Bones groaned, he imagined that Spock’s brows had reached for the sky.

“That’s not what I...agh, forget you heard that,” Bones muttered, flustered. “He’s just...just tell me what this is about.”

“The Captain cannot stop thinking about your case against him—”

“—case against him?” Bones asked in disbelief.

“Case of...insanity…” As he finished, Spock’s voice dwindled to nothing.

Confused, Jim sank back into the mattress. How the hell did he know about the nightmare? Or was he talking about something else? Before they came to Georgia, Jim had discussed his PTSD with Bones and Spock, the specific symptoms that would prevent him from retaining his ship. Including mental instability.

Bones opened the door and slipped outside of Jim’s room, leaving the door slightly cracked behind him. “Spock,” Jim heard him say in a low voice. “I have no case against Jim, especially one of insanity. _You’re_ the one talking nonsense. And it better stop as soon as Jim steps out of this room. He had a nightmare, a bad one, two actually, and I can tell he’s still upset about it.”

“A nightmare,” Spock repeated. “Of course,” he breathed. “A nightmare.”

There was a pause. “Spock, have you meditated lately?” Bones asked.

“Indeed, I have, and it is not necessary for me to continue.” Spock said stiffly. “If you will excuse me, I will no longer monopolize your time but return to the kitchen.”

“You’re not a bother, Spock,” Bones said. He paused. “While you’re here, you should know I have something to talk to you about. To both of you. Will you wait until we’re finished? It won’t take too long. Thirty minutes, tops, and then we can have breakfast.”

“Very well, Doctor,” Spock replied. “While I wait, I will meditate.”

Jim snorted.

Bones expelled a long breath. Jim could just see him biting back a smart remark.

“Yes, Spock. _Meditate_ ,” Bones emphasized. “Like I said before, I'd recommend it.”

He came back into the room after Spock left, closing the door with a strange look on his face. “Did you hear any of that?”

Jim nodded.

“Jimbo, I’m a little worried,” Bones put a hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, half turning back towards the door. “About Spock...and you.”

Jim shrugged. “He has a lot on his mind, especially now.”

Bones shook his head. “That’s not it. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something…”

“What?”

Bones walked up to the bed. “Never mind. Maybe I was just imagining things.”

Jim didn’t have to look too hard to see the fresh strain on his face. “The text from Jocelyn?”

“Um-hmm,” Bones hummed, putting on new gloves.

“Was it that bad?” Jim mused softly as Bones began the process of removing his catheter again.

Bones stilled, warning him with a look. “Jim, stop fishing.”

“Who? Me?” he denied.

The fiery sensation in his groin suddenly took his breath away and he twitched involuntarily. Bones placed a hand on his inner thigh, making Jim startle again. He wanted to look away but their eyes caught.

The doctor seemed to see straight through him. “You okay for me to continue?”

“Just get it done,” he said hoarsely.

“I’ll apply cream when we’re finished,” Bones said apologetically. “I’m sorry the line got pulled, Jim. You are red...and irritated.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, nothing else. Not even Bones. He just wanted this done, already.

“Okay, I'm going to start again, Jim,” Bones drawled. “It'll be over soon, I promise. And then you'll get to have your freedom.”

He clutched the quilt beneath him for the next full minute.

“There,” Bones said softly when he was finished, pulling away after he covered him with a sheet. “Now you can relax.”

Jim slowly let go of the quilt and sank into his pillow. He stared up at the ceiling, his limbs like liquid now that the annoying contraption was gone.

“It will be normal for you to have trouble urinating the first time,” Bones explained as he cleaned up. “But, the good news is that I don’t see any blood.”

“We’re going to have to go...through all of this again...next week?”

“I know it's not ideal, but in five days, yes.”

“Five days?”

“That'll be a week since the last injections, Jim. So yes, I’ll have to reinsert the catheter in five days. Less, if the numbers are good.” Bones took off his gloves and threw them in the container in the corner.

“You mean you’d move up the schedule?” Jim shivered. “Don't tease me.”

“I'm not,” Bones deadpanned. “If these numbers improve more than they already are, I’d have to move the injections up a day or two. Maybe even three.”

“But, if I have worse symptoms with each one….” Jim’s breathed raggedly. “I don't like the sound of that.”

Bones sank to the side of the bed and grasped his hand. “If that happens, I’ll admit you. Where I have everything at my fingertips to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“You’d stay there with me?” Jim asked humbly. “Or...if you don’t, just sedate me for the whole thing?”

“I can’t sedate you for the duration, no.” Bones hesitated and searched his face. “That last nightmare...I really left you?”

The crushing weight of living a life without this man came tumbling back down on him. He’d barely realized he had started crying before Bones gathered him in his arms.

“I didn’t let you stay grounded, now did I?” Bones said gruffly as he held him tightly against his chest. “I dragged your sorry ass onto the Enterprise the only way I knew how. I couldn’t let them take your body away unless I first tried to bring you back. What you dreamt is a damn lie, Jim. I meant what I said last night on the porch. I just can’t leave you behind.”

Jim fought his tears, but they poured down his cheeks as if he were only a child. “S-s-sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Bones murmured into his hair, hand curled around Jim’s head. “I know you. I know how strong you are. I know that this nightmare affected you more than you’re admitting right now. Because it came at a time when things are hard to begin with.”

“C-crying,” Jim stuttered.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Bones said. “What you’ve been going through...you’re holding up better than I ever would.”

Jim clutched him as if he’d disappear like the other Bones. The mean, angry, cold Bones. If it seemed like he was holding up better than expected, it was only because of _this_ Bones. The one who held him like he loved him.

“That said,” Bones said gently, “I have something to tell you and Spock, but I’ll only do so if I know you’re going to be able to handle it. And if you remember your promise.”

Jim curled his hands into Bones’s back. As much as he hated to back down, he had to.

“I remember,” he said hoarsely. “No getting involved.”

He held back his tears the best he could, slowly gaining control of himself. Dammit, why was he always falling apart when Bones needed him?

“Good.” He rubbed circles on Jim’s back. “Let’s shower, get dressed...and meet up with Spock for breakfast. It's early, about five-thirty, but we might as well start the day. If I see any indication that you’re not holding up, I’ll make you get in your pajamas again and head upstairs to read a book to Jojo.”

Jim sniffed. “I’d do that for her, anyway.”

“I know. I think you’ve read aloud every single book she has. At least once.” Bones paused, tone thoughtful. “Speaking of which, she mentioned to me last night that she needs new books. I might take her to the bookstore today. If you’re feeling up to it, you can come along for the ride.”

His near future suddenly looked bright. He pulled away from his grasp. “A field trip?”

Bones stood and rolled his eyes. “You'll have to stay in the craft. But, yes, a field trip, Jim.”

“Just as long as Spock remembers to bring his permission slip, too, Dad,” he quipped.

Bones launched a pillow at him. He ducked just in time.

 

oOo

 

McCoy set the breakfast plates in the kitchen sink, contemplating what exactly he’d tell Jim and Spock. First, however, he’d wash the dishes. Jim had accused him of being old-fashioned at the start of their date last night. He had to admit to himself, as he turned on the water, that this was all the proof he needed. Something about having his hands in the warm water and suds calmed him after working with his hands in a different way all day.

He debated mentioning anything in detail to either Jim or Spock, but decided he’d better come clean about the “1448” message sooner than later. Before he talked to Jocelyn or Treadway. Before Jojo got up for the day. It was going on six-thirty, already. Jim and Spock were his friends, and they wouldn’t take no for answer. Letting the issue fester would only create problems, even distance between them. They’d discuss his options—together.

Still, he had his reservations. Jim was having a hard time this morning, though he’d put on his game face. The nightmare had tipped the scales again. He wouldn’t receive this news well at all in his current emotional and mental state, no matter how much he’d tried to comfort him.

But Spock might handle it even worse than Jim would.

He knew from experience how Spock handled threats against his friends, against Jim’s crew. Although this threat was more of a personal nature, he had a feeling it wouldn't make a difference to Spock one way or another. That Spock seemed tightly wound wouldn’t help, either.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was obviously bothering him.

Jim came from behind him and draped an arm around his waist. “I’ll dry,” he offered, placing his chin on McCoy’s shoulder.

He smiled to himself. Jim Kirk, being all domesticated? He could get used to this.

“Ya sure you feel up to it?” McCoy asked without turning around.

He stopped the water and added a small amount of additional dish soap, staring into the sink instead of at Jim. He’d felt the need to give him space ever since they emerged from the bedroom this morning. He’d avoided any talk about Jocelyn’s message at breakfast, giving Jim time to talk with Spock about whatever he wanted. Which had been, interestingly enough, the trip to the bookstore. Or, rather, books. Although Jim and Spock were explorers, they both appreciated the rare, tangible things of the past, eschewing technology for a book they could hold in their hands, games such as chess, the list went on.

McCoy appreciated those things at times, too, just wasn’t as demonstrative about it as Jim. He’d rather listen as they talked instead of participating in the discussion. He enjoyed the normalcy of the conversation, even the environment, although he knew he shouldn't be ignoring Treadway’s message and its implications. The three of them sitting around the small table in the kitchen reminded him of the times they’d spent in Jim’s quarters on the Enterprise.

It was a breath of fresh air, considering the past few days.

And he had to reluctantly admit that he was old-fashioned. Or, at least sentimental. He wanted Jim back on the ship doing what he loved most as soon as possible. If Jim was happy, he was, too.

“Yep,” Jim said cheerily. “If I can have a piece of that cherry pie your mom made that I saw in the fridge.”

“You can have it at lunchtime,” he said decidedly. Jim had woken up with an appetite but it was still early in the day and he didn’t want him to wind up with a stomachache. “No need to rush things, okay?”

Jim unhooked his arm from his waist and came to his side. He sighed, staring dejectedly at the bowl McCoy had started washing. “But your mom made it. What if Spock eats it all?”

“Spock isn’t going to eat my mama’s pie,” he grumbled.

Jim’s eyes looked past McCoy’s shoulder. “You sure about that?” he asked, smirking.

Brow arching, McCoy turned and looked where Jim was now pointing.

He did a double take. Spock had cut himself a piece of the pie and was in the process of taking his first bite.

“Since when does Spock just...eat pie?” he whispered to Jim. “For breakfast?”

“You know that as soon as he has that first bite,” Jim hushed back, “he’ll want the rest.”

“No, as soon as you have that first bite,” he drawled, “ _you’ll_ want the rest.”

They both watched Spock quietly as the tip of the fork disappeared in his mouth, coming out clean seconds later. A euphoric expression crossed his face.

“I’m confused,” McCoy said. “Do you see that?”

Jim nodded, scratching his chin. “He certainly took the initiative. Maybe he took your advice too far...and over meditated? Can Vulcans do that?”

He shrugged and turned back to his pile of dishes. “Don’t look at me.”

“Maybe I should comm Uhura,” Jim whispered hastily. “This seems important enough to call her about.”

McCoy shook his head. “He’s gonna be fine. A little extra sugar doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Jim looked at him indignantly. “That’s not what you tell me.”

His mouth twitched at the corners. “Well, you’re not just anyone, are you?” he drawled, glancing sideways at him. Maybe even giving in to the feeling of flirtatiousness that had washed over him, and undressing Jim with his eyes.

Jim’s mouth gaped open a little, his expression starry-eyed as he stared at him.

Exactly the reaction he’d been going for.

He made a noncommittal but smug noise in his throat and turned his attention back to the dishes.

“Like I said,” he breathed, with a single, deliberate shake of his head. “Not just anyone.”

“Wow,” Jim whispered. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. May I still have that pie?”

He chuckled. “Nice try, but no. You can dry this plate, instead.” He handed him a clean dish, their hands brushing against each other.

“You know, you forgot one thing,” Jim said quietly as he wiped it dry.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You brought me here, too,” Jim said.

McCoy’s hands stilled in the suds.

“The one place…” Jim hesitated, looking down at the dish in his hands. “That feels like home to me other than the Enterprise.”

Concerned there was more on his mind than just feeling at home, McCoy plucked his hands from the water and dried them on the extra towel on the counter.

He looked straight into Jim’s eyes and said, “If things don’t quite end up like we want them to be, then we’ll stay here where it feels like home. You and me, Jim. Indefinitely. My mama already told me the door’s open.”

Jim gave a nervous, breathless laugh.

He reached up and grasped him gently by the shoulders. “I mean that, Jim. And you are going to get back on that ship. But, if something happens -”

“If I really am too fucked up in the head to captain a ship, you mean,” Jim interrupted under his breath.

“No, I mean if things don’t go as planned, and it’s better for your mental health to stay grounded for awhile. But I don’t see that happening,” he said honestly, dropping his arms. “I just don’t want you to worry about something like that since you had that...nightmare.”

Jim shivered.

“If you want to talk about—”

“Maybe later,” Jim interrupted, giving him small smile.

“Jim,” he said in warning.

“After Spock tells us what’s eating him,” Jim said, frowning as he observed his First Officer. “I promise.”

He rubbed his jaw. “So you sense something's off with him, too?”

Jim nodded. “And you.”

McCoy eyed him carefully. “You’re one to talk.”

Jim grew quiet.

“We need to have that chat.” McCoy sighed.

“Absolutely,” Jim muttered. “But first,” he continued as he suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping one arm around his neck.

Warm lips teased his mouth open, tongue flicking inside as their kiss became more intimate. He hummed in his throat, tasting biscuits, jam, sweet tea and Jim. A delicious combination.

Jim drew back too soon. “I just wanted to say, thank you, Leo,” he said softly, hand stroking his arm. “For being patient with me this morning.”

Leo?

He didn’t have too much time to think about how strange but wonderful and sexy that sounded when Jim kissed him soundly on the lips again.

Jim slowly pulled away, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. Like he was trying to entice him.

He ignored the gesture. Mostly.

“You still can’t have that pie,” he deadpanned, after a pause dedicated to ogling his mouth, that talented tongue of his.

Jim broke out into a grin. “I know. You can't blame a guy for trying, _Leo_.”

“Infant,” McCoy muttered.

They finished the dishes in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other as they shared the dish duty. He'd never had a better time washing dishes, and by the look on Jim’s face, the normalcy of the task had done him good, too.

As Jim was putting away the last of the cups, McCoy sat down at the kitchen table across from Spock, who’d finished his pie and was reading his PADD.

“What’s eating you, Spock?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Spock looked up. “Doctor McCoy, nothing is ‘eating me,’ as you so eloquently stated.”

“No need to be snarky,” Jim said, grinning as he joined them. “Maybe he should've asked what you were eating. We saw you with that pie.”

Spock’s cheeks tinged green. “You inspired me to partake of it, Jim. I recalled your expressed enjoyment in partaking of Mrs. McCoy’s desserts ‘from scratch,’ as you call them, and wished to experience it for myself.”

“Really?” Jim’s brow rose in surprise.

“Do you not care for Mrs. McCoy’s pie?” Spock hedged.

“I’d eat the whole damn thing right now, if I could,” Jim said with a sigh. “But someone won’t let me.”

McCoy huffed. “I’m saving you from a morning spent with a stomachache.”

“It’s a conspiracy,” Jim said with a wave of his hand. “You two just want it for yourselves.”

Spock’s eyes warmed. “You are feeling well today.”

“I think so, better than I have all week, actually,” Jim said. He blinked several times, staring down at his hands. “If I don’t think about my nightmare.”

McCoy exchanged a glance with Spock.

“But that can wait,” Jim added swiftly. “We have several things to discuss. First, Spock.”

Spock stiffened in his chair.

“See. That, what you just did.” Jim leaned forward in his chair, looking earnestly at him. “What’s going on with you?”

Spock lifted his chin. “I do not know to what you refer.”

“You can’t play dumb with me,” Jim said, eyes gently probing. “Something is bothering you.”

Spock gave the barest of sighs. “I discovered Treadway’s true identity.”

“True identity?” McCoy repeated.

“What?” Jim asked at the same time. “When?”

“Last night,” Spock said. “He is a former boxer, once known as Clayton the Lion.”

“Boxer?” McCoy asked incredulously.

“That would explain his fighting stance,” Jim mused lightly.

He shot him a stern look. Did he still not realize how close to being a mash of flesh and bone he’d been?

“What?” Jim said indignantly.

“This is not the time to joke. He could’ve ki—” he paused, tripping over the word before he revealed his worst fear, had Treadway pounded his face in. “Hurt you,” he finished lamely.

“But he didn’t, and he won’t be coming around here because of my two bodyguards,” Jim said, pointedly glancing at him, then Spock. “I saw him fight several times,” Jim went on, expression closing as if in deep thought. “How could I have not recognized him?”

“He doesn’t look like a boxer now. Or ex-boxer. Not when he’s wearing a suit that Jocelyn probably bought him,” McCoy grumbled. “Spock, you said you found this out last night? How?”

“I drove through their neighborhood,” Spock said vaguely.

His brows rose. “You spied on them?”

Spock inclined his head. “I parked on their street, a short distance from their house, and...listened to their conversation.”

Jim’s eyes widened as he stared at Spock. “You spied like a spy? Sneaking out and everything after we went to bed, going off in the dark by yourself like a Secret Agent kind of spying? Only you used your super Vulcan hearing? I can’t believe you spied on them,” Jim repeated in an awed voice. “Wow. I think you’re Bones’s hero in disguise, actually. Not mine.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I doubt Spock would appreciate that new job description.”

“On the contrary, Doctor McCoy, I am happy to be of service,” Spock said.

“That ‘service’ was dangerous,” he countered. “And I'd rather you not do that again. Your safety is at stake- and on my hands.”

“I have since discovered he is indebted,” Spock said, obviously avoiding his last comment. “I believe that he is using your ex-wife to pay back his debts.”

“And create a new name for himself, using Jocelyn’s family name to do it,” Jim murmured, eyes trained on some unknown spot in front of him. “He won’t just stop at threats.”

“I concur,” Spock said.

Jim set his mouth in a grim line. “He’ll do what he says. Do you realize the connections he already has? I know for a fact he used to be a part of an underground boxing ring. He has friends there, hell, even enemies, that would do his dirty work. Even if he is in debt, he just has to snap his fingers. Family will protect family. This has become more dangerous than I thought. Jocelyn told you she’s marrying him? Then he’ll let nothing get in his way of doing just that.”

After Jim finished, McCoy zoned in on one thing. He couldn’t allow a man like this to take on a fatherly role with his own daughter, but what else could he do? He was threatening him, using information on Jim’s recuperation.

“What if Treadway happened to have a piece of information,” he began slowly. “Information on Jim’s...recovery?”

Jim glanced sharply at him. “By recovery, do you mean bringing back from the dead?”

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

“Did he...threaten you?” Jim asked tightly. When he didn't answer Jim’s eyes hardened. “Dammit, Bones what the hell did he do?”

“Sent a message late last night.” McCoy tried to smile.

It fell flat, and the weight of the threat finally dropped on his shoulders since he’d awakened. Shoulders curved inward, he clasped his hands on the table in an effort to mask his anxiety.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jim asked tightly, more to his expression than just a wounded look. “Bones…”

He shook his head. “It’s staring me right in the face and I can’t bring myself to do a thing. I had it all planned out last night. I’d call Jocelyn, give in, all because of a number,” McCoy said, laughing dryly. “Fourteen fucking forty-eight. Do you know what that is?” he asked. Glaring at Jim. Glaring Spock. At both of them, as if they were the ones who’d sent the threat. “Because I do. I won’t ever forget,” he gritted. “And, now? They know.”

Spock’s eyes grew cold. “I will not permit them to threaten you—or Jim.”

“And how are you going to stop them?” McCoy tossed out angrily. “You get too close, Vulcan or not, you’ll either get your lights punched out or be handed a restraining order.”

“He cannot hurt me, nor can a thousand of his fists,” Spock said quietly. “And I will not allow them to hurt the both of you. We will report his threat to Jim, obtain a restraining order against him after responding to your ex-wife’s message.”

“You do that and he’ll—”

“He will realize that despite his threats, we are not willing to jeopardize our captain’s life.” Spock interrupted calmly. “Or, Doctor, do you wish to endanger Jim?”

”No, of course not,” McCoy gritted. “But Treadway’s threats will only get worse.”

“Then you will first respond to your ex-wife as if you agree with her. You will inform her that you will not oppose her in the custody arrangement. However, you will ask her to wait before pursuing full custody for one week. You will also explain what transpired between her fiancé and Jim, that you have footage of the event, and cannot risk his life, despite their threats.” Spock paused. “After which, we _will_ talk to the appropriate law enforcement officials.”

McCoy inhaled sharply.

“B-Bones?”

McCoy blinked several times at Spock, hearing Jim only as if in a tunnel. On one hand, what Spock suggested could result in a greater threat. But, on the other hand, it could possibly work and stop the threats.

“B-Bones,” Jim gasped, as if his breath was being squeezed from him. “That was...that was wh-when…”

McCoy finally pulled his gaze from Spock and returned his focus back on Jim, where it should be. Where it should’ve been. His heart fell as he realized what his thoughtless tirade had caused.

Jim’s hands were shaking, his face a deathly sheet of white. His eyes darting back and forth as his breaths came out in short puffs.

Too damn close to a panic attack, if not there, already.

“...my he-heart…”

McCoy reached for both of his hands. “It was, Jim, but we are beyond that, now,” he whispered. “Both of us.”

He enveloped Jim’s clammy hands in his own.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he continued in a gentle voice, not wanting to startle him into a deeper anxiety-filled state. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I should have had more tact. I’m sorry.”

“N-not your fault,” Jim stammered. “Mine.”

He peered into Jim’s unfocused eyes. “Not your fault, either. You're suffering from post-traumatic stress. And you're not doing anything wrong,” he said, tenderly stroking Jim’s knuckles with his thumbs. “But I need you to calm down so we can continue talking. If you don’t, I will take you upstairs to see Jojo, and you will sit this conversation out.”

Jim’s eyes slightly widened, the only indication that he’d heard him.

“Take a deep breath,” he said as soothingly as he could, trying to draw him in and focus on his voice. “Think about that pie you love so much.”

The younger man’s brow wrinkled.

“Yes, pie. My mama’s homemade pie with crust that melts in your mouth,” he drawled quietly. “Go ahead, Darlin’. Close your eyes for me.”

Jim blinked, his eyes no longer nervously looking around but fixated on him, as soon as he’d said ‘Darlin.’

He smiled encouragingly, lowering his voice to a soothing murmur.

“That’s right, Darlin’. Focus on me. Now, close your eyes,” he prompted. “Imagine sinking your teeth into the filling, tasting that sugar you love that I hate to let you eat, but let ya eat, anyway. Just close your eyes, Jim.”

Jim’s eyes drifted shut.

“That’s it, Darlin,’” he said softly. “Keep them closed and relax. Imagine that plate of homemade sweetness right in front of you. Now, breathe.”

When Jim expelled a long, even breath, McCoy was just wondering how he could slip off to the fridge to get some when he saw Spock quietly leave his chair and walk purposefully in that direction. Soon, Spock had pulled out the pie, bringing the entire dish to the table as well as another fork and plate. As if he'd read his mind.

“Just keep on breathing in and out, just like that. You're right here with me. Not leavin’ ya,” McCoy murmured as Spock began to cut a slice of the pie. “Wherever I go, you go. Wherever you go, I go, too. Not letting you outta my sight, Jim.”

Jim’s shoulders relaxed, a contented expression on his face.

McCoy continued to caresses his hands, which had yet to stop trembling. Holding a fork and eating would be a difficult task if he couldn’t relax completely.

“Take another deep breath and squeeze my hands,” he said.

Jim obeyed, though his grasp wasn’t as strong as it should be.

“Good. Keep listening to my voice, Darlin’,” he prompted. “Let’s see if you can relax even more, thinking about that pie.”

Jim’s shoulders dropped.

“Just like that, Darlin’. Listen to my voice. You know I'm here right beside ya. Not leaving. Right here while you think of that dessert you love so much. I think you can even smell the cherries as we speak.”

He stifled a sigh of relief when Jim’s tremors ceased.

“That’s right, Jim,” he murmured. “I’m right here with you. So is Spock. On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes. Nod if you understand.”

Jim nodded once.

“Alright, Darlin’,” he called softly. “One, two...three.”

Jim’s eyes fluttered open. They were a bit glazed but no longer anxious. If fact, he looked slightly dazed if not completely contented.

“Look down, Darlin’,” McCoy ordered him gently.

Jim’s gaze dropped to the plate in front of him.

“It’s all yours, Jim.”

Jim blinked slowly, as if in disbelief that what he’d been thinking about was now under his nose.

“Go ahead,” he urged, letting go of Jim’s hands. “Eat to your heart’s content.”

Jim reached for the fork and tucked into the pie, sighing languidly.

McCoy watched him without saying another word, allowing him the space he needed to come back to himself. In his experience, it would take a few moments. Just the right amount of time he needed to finish the conversation with Spock.

“I was not aware of your extended influence over the captain,” Spock said slowly.

“The imagery? Guiding him to picture something he really likes to eat? Putting him in a relaxed state? It’s merely a trick I learned that worked with Jim a long time ago,” he murmured. “When things at the Academy got a little….tense.”

“It is truly fascinating,” Spock said.

“I had years to perfect it,” he said, glancing at him. “Though, this time, I might have added a few...words.”

“Indeed,” Spock said thoughtfully.

McCoy scowled. The darlin’ bit might have slipped out, but he certainly wouldn't take it back, not after Jim had reacted so well to the endearment.

Jim chose that exact moment to stare up at him. “May I eat the entire piece?” he asked.

“Yes, Darlin’,” he answered softly. “You eat and listen. Spock and I will talk.”

Jim blinked. “Okay.”

Any other time, McCoy would have been concerned about how easily he agreed, but not today.

“How did Treadway obtain this information?” Spock asked, wasting no time as Jim went back to eating his dessert for a second breakfast.

McCoy shook his head. “I don’t know. A crewmember? Computer hacker? Someone who works at the hospital?”

“Do you know of anyone who might have a vendetta against you?” Spock said quietly, watching Jim in concern. “Or against…?”

He let the question hang for obvious reasons.

“Not that I know of in regards to me, but…” McCoy’s voice faded for the same reason - just in case Jim chose to tune in more carefully than he was currently.

The question in and of itself was a can of worms. There were those who’d love to get back at Jim for one reason or another, thanks to the younger man’s earlier years of rebellious and dangerous living, then becoming a captain so quickly . But who knew, now that Jim was the poster boy of Starfleet.

“It's possible,” he said simply. “I should also check with Doctor Boyce, see who has been coming in and out of the place. See who, exactly, has been reading up on my patient’s records. Activity is always logged.”

“Unless the hacker is able to infiltrate the system anonymously,” Spock said.

He rubbed his face, hand stilling on his chin. “Yes, Spock. Unless that.”

“If that is the case, I will discover the hacker's identity, nonetheless.” Spock narrowed his eyes. “I would also prefer to have a word with Jocelyn.”

McCoy's brows raised. Spock wanted to speak with Joce?

“Alone,” Spock added. “Without Treadway’s influence.”

“They marry within a month,” McCoy said. “When that happens, it'll be near impossible to accomplish that. I imagine he's forcing her to be extra cautious even now. He was the one to bring Jojo’s bag.”

“Unless she meets with you,” Spock countered. “In regards to the custody. She cannot refuse.”

“That’s it,” Jim murmured.

McCoy glanced at him sharply. “Jim?”

“Spock is right. She can't refuse,” he said, eyes strangely brightening. “She can't refuse you, Bones.”

“What do you mean?” McCoy asked, frowning.

“We just have to get Jocelyn to fall in love with you again,” he said excitedly.

“What?” McCoy exclaimed. He immediately reached over the table and checked his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re going straight to bed.”

“Bones, I'm fine now, really,” he protested, waving away his hand.

“I'll be the judge of that.” He scowled. “You're talking nonsense, Jim.”

“No, it's perfect.” Jim’s head bobbed up and down. “We need to make her fall in love with you again,” he insisted.

“We are doing no such thing,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“Captain, I must agree with Doctor McCoy,” Spock said, eyes narrowed on Jim. “Your suggested course of action is unwise.”

But Jim just smiled. “It’ll work, trust me, Spock. And you’re irresistible, Bones. My nightmare taught me that. Though, I knew that already.”

“Are you outta your cornfed mind?” McCoy blurted. “There’s no way in hell we’re going to try and get my ex-wife to fall in love with me again, Jim.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Of course not. That's not what I'm suggesting.”

“But that's what...what you just said!” McCoy exhaled a strangled breath. “Then what are you saying?”

“Captain, I admit I am confused, as well,” Spock said.

“We beat them at their own game,” Jim said simply. “We become as deceptive as they are.”

“How?” he asked.

“By changing Jocelyn’s mind. About more than the custody battle.” Jim lifted the fork to his mouth, taking another bite.

Spock quirked a brow. “You are suggesting that we influence her to sever the engagement.”

Jim swallowed. “For Jojo’s sake, I'd even let her think about kissing you, Bones.”

McCoy slumped in his seat. “Unbelievable.”

“It’ll work, Bones,” Jim insisted again.

“I’ve heard that one before,” he muttered.

“It will,” Jim said brightly. “You’re charming and old-fashioned, especially when you’re not so grumpy. We just have to get her to see this side of you again, convince her that she wants to marry someone more like you instead of Treadway.” He grinned and pointed his fork in the air at him. “You could even flirt.”

“I am not going to flirt,” he gritted, glaring at Jim. “Did ya forget what your nightmare was about?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “I didn’t forget, Bones. But this won’t be so bad. Just think about it. For Jojo’s sake.”

“Still don't like it,” McCoy said, scowling. “What if we succeed, which is highly unlikely, and she dumps him just like that, and our ex-boxer takes it out on Jocelyn?”

Jim exchanged a glance with Spock. “See? He's sharing his caring side already. She won’t be able to resist.”

McCoy groaned, putting his face in his hands. “You said so yourself that he’s dangerous,” he muttered. “Jocelyn cutting off the engagement could send him over the edge,” he warned, looking up.

Jim nodded. “Then we have to be discreet about it, act like we’re not involved, like Jocelyn changed her own mind without any influence. I think Spock has a good idea about wanting to speak with Jocelyn alone. Now, how to get her alone without anyone knowing...that’s the question.”

“She’d come here for dinner if I invited her,” a soft voice said from the doorway.

McCoy’s head snapped up. “Mama…”

Nora cocked her head, smiling at him. “She used to come for meals in the evening, even after you divorced. Remember?”

He remembered. But those days were long gone. Jocelyn was different now, all those attributes he’d disliked in the past exacerbated because of Treadway.

He sighed. “Don’t tell me you agree with all of this nonsense, too.”

“I’ll ask her today,” she decided. “We can plan for the dinner to be two days from now, give Jim time to feel more like himself.”

Jim looked at him expectantly. Hell, so did Spock.

“We mix like oil and water,” he grumbled.

“Just one night, dear,” his mother gently pressed.

He crossed his arms and didn’t speak for a moment. The tension rose in the room, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he stated his demands.

“I’m not flirting or kissing or hugging. I’m not bending over backwards for her. I’m not trying to get her to fall in love with me, but I will show her that I care for her happiness because it directly affects our daughter. I will show her that I love our daughter with my whole heart…” He paused and stared right at Jim. “...and that I am in love with someone else.”

Jim blinked, fork loose in his hand.

“That’s all we are asking, dear,” Nora said gently.

McCoy’s eyes were still on Jim, who swallowed and cleared his throat.

“So that’s a yes?” Jim asked thickly, eyes brimming with emotion as he stared back at him.

He sighed. What was he getting himself into?

“It’s a yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you comment, thank you for that, too. I'm so appreciative of your support. Until next time!


	11. All I Can Think of Is This Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is a little shorter chapter than usual, but no less important. :) I intend to keep updating as much as I can before the movie. Crossing fingers for at least one more time (or two!). I got caught up with my Hurt!Bones story because I couldn’t ignore my muse, but since that one is almost complete I should have another update coming shortly for this one. BTW, if you are into Star Trek AUs I do have two I'm currently writing (including the Hurt!Bones story, which is equal parts Hurt!Jim, now that I think about it). If you take a peek at them, you’ll probably hear me screaming with joy or something to that nature. ;)
> 
> Thank you Junker5, plumeria47, and Diamondblue4 for betaing. It’s been exciting working with you all. I appreciate the time and thought you are putting into edits and critiques. Your edits have made such a big difference and have saved me from a few catastrophes. :D Not to mention your wonderful words of encouragement. *HUGS*
> 
> This chapter backtracks just a tad, giving us Jim’s POV before Bones makes his “proclamation.” I hope you enjoy the read.

Jim savored his first bite of cherry pie with everything he had. He closed his eyes in bliss, relishing the fresh fruit and flaky crust as he chewed, the flavors bursting in his mouth like fireworks. He always loved Nora’s pies, but this one was exceptional. It melted in his mouth, more delicious than anything she’d ever made.

He took another bite, hearing his friends talk over him but no longer paying any attention. The voices around him were warm but muffled, as if pieces of cotton were stuffed in his ears. It was pleasant, a murmur that he didn’t even try to understand. Why should he? He felt like he was on a cloud, floating far away. Or in a bubble, shielded from his worries. Whatever it was, it was magical.

Sort of like his piece of pie, which had appeared under his nose out of nowhere.

He settled deeper into the bubble. It was safe. Protective. He reveled in it. Bones had used this trick on him all the time at the Academy, but he’d never mentally separated from him or the world around him this much before. It was as if another force had come alongside Bones, helping him get to this point where he was so distanced from them, he wasn’t worried. About anything.

Whatever it was that was helping Bones, and therefore, Jim as well, it was working. He felt sated. Content to just sit and eat and let them solve the issue at hand. The issue that he now could hardly remember.

He chewed happily, his stomach filling after just a few bites. As he swallowed, he thought again about this so-called second breakfast. Maybe he shouldn’t eat too much, given what had happened yesterday. He didn’t want to lose his dessert-for-second-breakfast as soon as he’d eaten it. Bones would know if he should finish it or not.

A little of the bubble cleared right away as he looked up at Bones for permission.

“May I eat the entire piece?” he asked, hope bleeding into the request.

Bones’s expression filled with tenderness. Jim stared back with wide eyes, basking in that, too. He couldn’t remember ever seeing that look on Bones’s face before. Like he cherished him.

He never knew he wanted to be cherished. How had Bones known he’d wanted to be?

Now that he’d experienced it, he wasn’t sure he could ever survive not being thought of in that matter.

Warmth coursed through his entire body. He’d give up his piece of pie—his damn ship—just to make this moment last forever.

“Yes, Jim,” Bones finally drawled, like he was speaking to a child.

At the moment, Jim felt like one, not that it was a bad thing. On the contrary, he felt protected and loved, by Bones—and Spock.

“You eat and listen,” Bones reminded him gently. “Spock and I will talk.”

Jim blinked, surprised he could hear him so clearly again after being in the bubble so long. “Okay.”

The bubble closed, like a loose, protective curtain over his mind. His head felt light and soft, and lulled, Jim took another bite of pie. And another.

After awhile, when he was nearly finished, he began to think twice about the bubble. He liked this feeling that all the cares in the world were gone. He liked it a lot, especially after all these days—weeks—dealing with the injections and their side effects. But he didn’t want Bones to think he wasn’t concerned. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

The bubble began to clear in the wake of those thoughts. He furrowed his brow, the voices gradually less of a murmur and more like the ones he was used to hearing. Spock, logical. Bones, that drawl of his thickening as he talked.

He listened for a short time before he finally understood their words again.

“...unless she meets with you,” Spock was saying once Jim locked on to their voices. “In regards to the custody. She cannot refuse.”

_She cannot refuse._

“That’s it,” Jim murmured.

The answer had been staring them in the face. In the form of his nightmare. He wasn’t surprised it came to him this way. His nightmares in the past always had a way of shocking him with revelations. It was just one more illogical, crazy thing about his life.

Bones threw him a look. “Jim?”

“Spock is right. She can't refuse,” he said, a light going off in his head. “She can't refuse you, Bones.”

“What do you mean?” Bones asked, frowning.

“We just have to get Jocelyn to fall in love with you again,” he said without thinking.

But it was true. In a way.

Jim knew for a fact that she never saw Bones for longer than five minutes at any given appointed drop-off with Jojo. Any sessions they had with lawyers together were just that. Sessions. And during those sessions, Bones would be scowling more than ever, his words concise and cool to her, never once showing her his warmer, more agreeable side. Especially where Jojo was concerned.

How could she even consider Bones a proper parent if she never saw him as one? If she didn’t even like the fact that he was her daughter’s father? Because she didn’t even _know_ him anymore?

If they managed to pull her attention away from Treadway for at least one night, give her a chance to see Bones interacting with Jojo in a natural setting for both of them—Nora’s house—maybe she’d see for herself. That Treadway wasn’t a good influence for their daughter. Or for her, for that matter.

But that Bones was everything to Jojo.

“What?” Bones exclaimed. He immediately reached over the table and checked his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re going straight to bed.”

“Bones, I'm fine now, really,” he said, swatting at his hand.

“I'll be the judge of that,” Bones said, but he retracted his hand. “You're talking nonsense, Jim.”

“No, it's perfect.” Jim nodded. “We need to make her fall in love with you again.”

“We are doing no such thing,” Bones gritted out.

“Captain, I must agree with Doctor McCoy,” Spock said, eyes narrowing on Jim. “Your suggested course of action is unwise.”

Jim smiled, still confident they’d see it his way. They were worried about him, though they shouldn’t be. He could handle this.

“It’ll work, trust me, Spock. And you’re irresistible, Bones. My nightmare taught me that. Though, I knew that already,” he added off-handedly.

Bones didn’t quite catch that he was flirting with him.

“Are you outta your cornfed mind?” Bones blurted. Jim quirked a brow. “There’s no way in hell we’re going to try and get my ex-wife to fall in love with me again, Jim.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. That's not what I'm suggesting.”

“But that's what...what you just said!” Bones strangled out a sigh.

Bones seemed to think he was speaking Cardassian, but Jim couldn’t think of any other way to explain it. No, he didn’t want Jocelyn truly falling in love with Bones, only see that she’d made a mistake with Treadway. Hopefully realizing she needed to find someone more like her ex-husband, who was not the same man she’d divorced. He was certain she’d come to that understanding on her own if she was given the opportunity. If she would only let herself see it. But, most importantly, if Bones had enough confidence in himself to show her who he’d become since he’d joined Starfleet.

A man who was honorable. The single most unselfish man Jim had ever met. A man who went above and beyond to properly care for the people around him, who had more heart than she could possibly understand on her own.

A man whose crusty exterior belied the love underneath.

“Then what are you saying?” Bones asked, expression frustrated.

“Captain, I admit I am confused, as well,” Spock said.

“We beat them at their own game,” Jim said matter-of-factly. “We become as deceptive as they are.”

“How?” Bones asked, doubt in his eyes.

“By changing Jocelyn’s mind. About more than the custody battle.” Jim lifted the fork to his mouth, taking another bite.

Juice sliding down his throat, the comfort of pie hitting him again, he was tempted to ask Bones to put him back in that safe place. He swallowed the pie, chasing that thought away. He felt better than he had before, when he’d flipped out over a damn time. _1448_. He had to be strong. He had to be _present_ for Bones.

Spock quirked a brow. “You are suggesting that we influence her to sever the engagement.”

He swallowed, thankful that Spock, at least, seemed to be catching on. “For Jojo’s sake, I'd even let her think about kissing you, Bones.”

In truth, he’d never tell Bones, but the thought made him a little nauseated. He’d let her kiss him for the sake of their mission.

He’d just have to close his eyes and not watch.

Bones slumped in his seat. “Unbelievable.”

“It’ll work, Bones,” he insisted.

It had to.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Bones muttered under his breath.

“It will,” he said brightly. “You’re charming and old-fashioned, especially when you’re not so grumpy. We just have to get her to see this side of you again, convince her that she wants to marry someone more like you instead of Treadway.” He grinned and pointed his fork in the air at him. “You could even flirt.”

He couldn't believe he’d just said that.

“I am not going to flirt,” Bones bit out, glaring at him. “Did ya forget what your nightmare was about?”

He had a point but he just rolled his eyes. “I didn’t forget, Bones. But this won’t be so bad. Just think about it. For Jojo’s sake.”

“Still don't like it,” Bones said, scowling. “What if we succeed, which is highly unlikely, and she dumps him just like that, and our ex-boxer takes it out on Jocelyn?”

That was exactly what he was talking about. Bones’s concern for everyone, even his ex-wife. He exchanged a glance with Spock. “See? He's sharing his caring side already. She won’t be able to resist.”

Bones groaned and put his face in his hands. “You said yourself that he’s dangerous. Jocelyn cutting off the engagement could send him over the edge,” he said in a warning tone, giving him another look.

He had to agree. “Then we have to be discreet about it, act like we’re not involved, like Jocelyn changed her own mind without any influence. I think Spock has a good idea about wanting to speak with Jocelyn alone.”

It was more than a good idea. It was a fantastic idea. As soon as he could, he’d ask Spock what he planned to say to her.

Jim hummed noncommittally in his throat. “Now, how to get her alone without anyone knowing...that’s the question.”

“She’d come here for dinner if I invited her,” a soft voice said from the doorway.

Bones snapped to attention like he was caught red-handed in the cookie jar. Jim smiled to himself, the involvement of his mother just what they needed.

“Mama…” Bones began.

Nora cocked her head and smiled at her son. “She used to come for meals in the evening, even after you divorced. Remember?”

Bones sighed. “Don’t tell me you agree with all of this nonsense, too.”

“I’ll ask her today,” she said cheerily. “We can plan for the dinner to be two days from now, give Jim time to feel more like himself.”

Jim felt a flash of satisfaction that Nora was in agreement. He leaned forward a little in his chair, holding his breath as he waited for Bones’s answer. In the silence, Spock unclasped then clasped his hands on the table again.

Jim lifted a brow. Interesting. Underneath Spock’s cool exterior, he was as anxious as he was for Bones’s decision.

“We mix like oil and water,” Bones grumbled in his usual fashion.

Her loss, Jim thought to himself smugly.

“Just one night, dear,” his mother gently reminded him.

Bones crossed his arms, silent. Just when Jim couldn’t take the tension rising in the room, he finally replied. Or ranted, was more like it.

“I’m not flirting or kissing or hugging. I’m not bending over backwards for her. I’m not trying to get her to fall in love with me, but I will show her that I care for her happiness because it directly affects our daughter. I will show her that I love our daughter with my whole heart…” Bones paused and stared right at Jim. “...and that I am in love with someone else.”

He blinked, the fork now loose in his hand. His pie forgotten.

_In love with someone else?_

What did that mean?

What did…

Oh.

He sucked in a breath.

Holy shit.

 _He_ was the someone else.

Bones was in love with _him_.

Not only that, but he’d declared his love in front his mother. In front of Spock.

He’d pinch himself and make sure he wasn’t dreaming again, but knowing his damn body, or not knowing his body at the moment, that would probably be a bad idea. He’d probably bruise in seconds. He could just imagine what Bones would say if that happened.

“That’s all we are asking, dear,” Nora said, her tone gentle.

Bones stared into Jim’s eyes with an expression that was so completely raw and vulnerable and unlike his Bones—that he had to do something. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He cleared his throat, fighting the emotion that had been coming too easily for him. He felt nervous, excited, scared, and happy all at the same time.

He barely managed to refrain from scrambling over the table to Bones.

“So that’s a yes?” he said thickly, staring back at him.

“It’s a yes,” Bones said softly.

His agreement was a relief. Somehow, a little of the haze from before washed over him again, though it wasn’t quite as strong. This time, he knew it wasn’t Bones.

It had to be something—or someone—else.

Was he losing it?

Something nagged at him, but he couldn't latch on to it as much as he tried. He sank in his seat, contented not to think about it too much.

“I shall return,” Spock suddenly said.

He stood up and excused himself from the table in a whirlwind.

Bones raised both brows. “Jim, I’m a little concerned about Spock,” he whispered when he was on the other side of the room. He frowned, and scratched his head. “More than I usually am.”

That _was_ odd. “Well, I think he’s okay, but I could be…”

Distracted, he forgot what he was saying and watched as Spock walked up to Nora, drawing her attention to something he saw through the window in the garden. They both went outside, leaving Jim with Bones.

Alone.

Jim’s heart skipped a beat, Bones’s words echoing in his mind like the chimes in Nora’s garden.

_...I am in love with someone else…_

“You look like ya need a nap already, Jim.”

Startled out of his reverie, he turned his head and stared at Bones. “What?”

Bones cocked his head at him. “Do you need a nap?” he asked quietly.

“No, no,” he said swiftly, self-conscious that he’d spaced out. “I’m fine. I...just…I’m just...” His voice faded into nothing, his mind on one thing only—the man who’d thrown him a curveball. Again.

The thought of the doctor—his CMO—choosing _him_ , blew his mind. Bones could have anyone. Anyone. He wasn’t oblivious to the looks civilians tossed the doctor’s way, or even some of the crew. Bones attracted attention no matter where he was.

“You’re just...what?” Bones asked.

“Is that why you gave me the pie?” he asked breathlessly.

Bones leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, wearing a look Jim categorized as smug.

“Whatever do you mean?” he drawled.

He wasn’t serious, was he?

Jim shifted in his seat. “You know.”

“Nope,” the doctor said, suddenly standing up. “Can’t say that I do.”

Exasperated, Jim watched him walk over to the kitchen counter and, after finding a clean cup, pour himself some water. Was he seriously going to play this game with him? Toy with his feelings?

“Do you want some? Or iced tea?” Bones asked without turning around, his drawl thickening.

Water was far from his mind. He stared at him with longing, tracing the lines of the doctor’s backside with his eyes. He wanted to tell Bones he was in love with him, but when they were in a more intimate and private setting. Maybe in bed together. No sex, no foreplay. Just them. Holding each other, exploring each other’s nakedness before sleeping in each other’s arms.

He wanted that so badly, his chest began to ache.

“Jim?” Bones asked, finally turning around.

He forced his gaze upwards. “Yeah,” he said roughly.

Bones’s eyes were sharp, probably catching where Jim’s focus had been. Glued to his ass. Like where they were looking now again. In the general direction, at least.

“Do you want a glass of water, Jim?” Bones asked.

“Yeah,” he said, averting his gaze from Bones altogether. He cleared his throat to control himself. “Sure.”

Bones set the glass on the table but instead of giving him time to drink it, he grasped Jim’s hand and practically lifted him up out of his chair.

“Bones,” he gasped, weightless as the force propelled him forward, directly into Bones’s chest.

Silent, Bones’s eyes burned into Jim’s, his mind clearly on...Jim. Heart beating at warp speed, he clutched Bones’s forearm in anticipation, fingers self-consciously kneading muscle. He usually hated damsel-in-distress moments in movies. Ironic, since now he felt like one. And maybe even liked it. He wasn't sure if Bones was going to kiss him—or sling him over his shoulder and haul him upstairs into the bedroom, tossing him on the bed, and _then_ ravage him with kisses.

Either way, it was a win. A complete and utter win.

“Look at me, Jim,” Bones whispered, his eyes demanding.

Jim couldn’t even nod back had he tried. He stared right back, Bones drawing him in entirely. He lost sense of himself. His surroundings. Everything. Even his body, not quite sure how the hell he was even standing or if he was.

He lost sense of everything except who was most important in his life.

 _Bones_.

“I meant what I said,” Bones said huskily, cupping Jim’s jaw.

The voice, along with the light touch, was the beginning of a fantasy he’d played over and over in his mind for months.

He breathed shallowly, willing himself to slowly inhale and exhale instead of panicking with the thought that his fantasies in real life usually never happened. At least not how he longed for them to happen. But this—this with Bones—felt more real than anything he’d ever experienced with anyone, men and women and alien alike.

“Even, that...that last part?” he asked hoarsely.

“Every word, and especially that,” Bones agreed, leaning in for a kiss while his fingers lazily caressed his jawline.

Jim parted his lips expectantly, the most turned on he’d been in a long time. Even more than last night.

Unpredictable, strong, and sexy Bones did something to his mind that nothing else had ever done for him before.

Bones’s slightly soft, wet lips closed on his warm, slightly cracked ones. Though the kiss was sweet, it evoked images of them showering together, lathering each other's bodies with soap while water poured over their bodies, causing him to long for him even more. He whined in his throat, the kiss ending far too quickly.

Bones pulled away, lashes fluttering open, his smile wide and open to Jim, just like his heart was.

Hadn’t Bones always opened his heart to Jim? Why had it taken his death for him to come to his senses? For them both to understand what had been there all along?

“One of these days, Darlin’, we’ll get to do more of this,” Bones said softly, leaning in for another kiss.

Jim practically melted into it. “Tonight?” he asked, voice shaking.

“I promise,” he murmured, his lips brushing his cheek.

“So this _is_ why you gave me the pie?” Jim murmured back, happy to receive his attention.

But it wasn't enough. He was yearning for more. More kisses. More Bones. Just fucking more.

Bones’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Maybe.”

“You’ve done it now, you know. There’s no going back,” Jim said, reaching up to finger that stubborn lock of Bones’s that kept falling forward.

“It was an announcement, wasn’t it?” he murmured.

“It was something that I’d do,” Jim said smugly.

“I know.” Bones cocked his head, his smile widening. “I just beat you to it, Darlin’.”

Jim fought a smile. Bones’s ego had needed stroking?

They leaned towards each other at the same time.

Jim ran his eyes over Bones’s face, wanting to kiss every inch of him. The words on the tip of his tongue finally spilled over. “Bones, I lo—”

“Daddy!”

Jim startled in Bones’s arms, his shoulder hitting the doctor’s chest with force. Instead of pulling away and separating them with distance, Bones tightened his arms around him, before he lost his balance.

“Uncle Jim,” she added excitedly, skipping over to him first. Her eyes widened as she saw him in her father's arms. “Oh,” she said bashfully, “Do you love each other? Like Henry’s daddies do?”

Bones opened his mouth as if to speak, closing it before he did. Jim curled his fingers into Bones’s arm again, not quite sure what the fuck he was supposed to do in this type of situation. Should he leave? Let Jojo figure it out? Hightail it out of there?

Bones tightened his arms around him even more, securing him as if telling him to stay. It did appear like she had them figured out already, whether or not he stayed. Just like her father and his announcement, there was no going back now.

Jim gave in. He rested his head on Bones’s shoulder, relaxing in the doctor’s strong embrace.

As cliche as it sounded, it felt like...home. There was no one else he’d ever give in to. No one else he’d rather give his heart to. Bones was his home.

He smiled softly at Jojo. “Hey, Sleepyhead.”

She peered at him with bright eyes and a shy smile. “I’m up early, Uncle Jim! Just like you!” Her eyes bounced from Jim to her father and back to Jim. “I always wanted Daddy to love you, Uncle Jim, because you need more people to love you,” she added breathlessly.

Jim’s heart squeezed with love for her. Had Jojo really wanted that for him? For Bones?

“And if Mommy has someone, so should Daddy,” she continued hurriedly. “And I know you love him, Uncle Jim, because you don’t get after him for being grumpy like Mommy does. And when you love Daddy, Uncle Jim, he's happy. This is perfect,” she announced.

Jim lifted his head and stared up at Bones. He couldn't believe that Jojo was okay with this? Nothing ever was so simple for Jim. For them. Was it?

“Bones?” he asked quietly.

A hum rumbled in Bones’s chest. “She’s right, Jim,” he said, shrugging. “It does seem perfect, doesn’t it, Jojo?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her head bobbing up and down. She wrapped her arms around their waists the best she could with her tiny arms and squeezed them. “Perfect.”

Jim couldn’t help but feel...stunned. It was going to be this easy. Bones’s hand cupped his hip, squeezing it as if in reassurance.

“Well, Sleepyhead,” Bones drawled slowly.

“Da-ad,” she whined. “It’s just like I said. I woke up early!”

“Well, my darlin’ early bird,” he corrected, causing her smile to reappear, “how about, we get you some breakfast and then you can play cards with Mister Spock and Uncle Jim while I take care of a few things?”

She peeled her arms from around their legs and looked up at him with wide, anxious eyes. “Aren’t you going to play, too, Daddy?”

“I will, as soon as I take care of a few things,” Bones repeated gently. “And after breakfast, if Jim feels well enough, we’ll take a trip to the bookstore.”

Instead of brightening, as Jim expected her to do, Jojo’s expression fell.

Bones let go of Jim and crouched in front of her. “Darlin’, it won't take me long.”

“It's not that, Daddy,” she said in a small voice. “It's just…Mommy and Mister Clay always take me to the wrong bookstore. They always get me...the wrong books.”

Bones’s eyes softened. “I see,” he said. “Where would you like to go, Jojo?”

She put her a finger in her mouth, chewing her nail. “I dunno.”

Jim exchanged a glance with Bones.

“I think you do, Darlin’,” he prodded softly. “And it’s okay. You can tell us, Sweetheart.”

“The Book Heart,” she whispered, peering hesitantly at Jim first, then at her father.

The name wasn’t familiar to Jim, but Bones straightened and stared off into the distance.

Jim’s brow creased. “Bones?”

“It’s on the other side of town,” he murmured, eyes on an unknown spot before him. “If I recall correctly, the man who owns it is the son of the founder of another financial corporation that…” He looked at Jim, voice trailing off, but only briefly. “And it just so happens that The Book Heart is down the street from this corporation, too.”

Jim quickly got the picture. This was a rival of Jocelyn’s. More specifically, Jocelyn’s family business. No wonder Jocelyn had never taken her back to The Book Heart. Knowing Jocelyn, she wouldn’t be caught twice at a place that was owned by anyone who was an ‘enemy’ of her father. And a rival financial institution? When it came to the Darnells? They _were_ the enemy.

“Is that why...Mister Clay...and your mother never took you?” Bones asked softly. “Because it’s on the other side of town?”

She pulled her finger out of her mouth, eyes filling with tears. “We w-went once a-a-and M-mommy said n-n-not ag-g-ga-”

She stopped and flung herself at him. Bones was like a rock, unmoving as she curled herself into him, his arms folded around her in a caring embrace. He rubbed her back, resting his head against hers.

“It has m-my favorite books. And a nice m-man wh-who helps m-me find them.”

“Oh, Darlin’, it’s okay. Everything will be okay,” he whispered into her ear. “I think we’ll head to The Book Heart, let _you_ pick your books, since we’ll be headed in that direction, anyway.”

Jim heard her breath catch. “We a-are?” she asked in a small voice.

“Uncle Jim wants to go on a field trip.”

She sniffled, her smile small. “With us?”

He nodded in mock sincerity. “It’s not every day the great Captain Kirk—”

Jim snorted.

“—wants a field trip, so we’re going to go the entire way through town,” Bones said, cocking an eye up at Jim. “Though I bet he’ll sleep through half the field trip, anyway.”

“Hey,” Jim said indignantly. “I won’t if you let me go in.”

The brow dropped, Bones scowling at him.

“Please?” he begged, already imagining the scent of books filling his senses when he walked in. “I want to see Jojo’s favorite bookstore.”

He wanted to test his damn sea legs.

“It’s not safe for you, Jim,” Bones said slowly, eyes beseeching. “Not yet. Not even with a mask.”

He tried not to grimace, but it was impossible. He was living in a bubble. But Bones was right. He was always right. He couldn't risk an infection or illness.

He doubted things would ever be safe in Bones’s mind when it came to Jim’s health again. And if that were true, how were they ever going to go back to the way things had been on the ship? Going on away missions? The threats? The risks of being in space?

Things would never be the same.

Jim promised himself it would be better. They’d work through these issues together once he got well. Eventually.

“Jim?” Bones said, looking so sincere that he couldn’t get mad at him. “I _am_ sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, reaching out to rub the top of Jojo’s head. He smiled down at her. “I’ll just live vicariously through my best girl.”

Jojo lifted her chin. “You promised me a game,” she demanded.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked with a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded.

“You’re on.”

She lifted her chin more and tossed her head. “I _always_ get the Jellyfish cards.”

He frowned. “Now wait a minute. Those are my fav—”

“And the Sharks,” she added, smirking back.

“But...but those are my favorite, too,” he sputtered.

“Not anymore,” she chanted, climbing to a seat at the table. “When I play with Nana, I always get them.”

“You’re a regular little card shark, aren’t you?” he couldn’t resist saying.

Jojo giggled, Bones simultaneous groaning.

Jim grinned. “I knew there was a reason you were my best girl, Jojo. Even though you steal my cards—my favorites—you laugh at my jokes.”

Bones stood up, shaking his head. “While you two fight over what is supposed to be a simple, harmless game of cards, I’ll go take care of a few things.”

Jim met his gaze. ”Bones…”

Bones shook his head. “I have to do this alone, Jim, but I promise you that I will tell you what I learn, alright?”

He wondered if Bones could see the tension creeping into his shoulders. Hear the doubts in his mind that Bones could handle this one on his own.

“I’ll hypo you if I have to,” the doctor murmured as Jojo pulled out her deck of cards from her backpack. “Are you going to be able to handle this?”

“I can, but you—”

Bones cut him off with a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be fine,” he said, watching him carefully. “But the minute you feel a panic attack coming on, you tell Spock.”

Jim winced, hating that he turned it back on him when all he wanted to do was just be strong for him for once. “I don’t just...panic.”

It felt like a pathetic lie as soon as the words tumbled off of his tongue.

He did just panic. He was a fucking panic machine. He felt panic in his chest just thinking about being a fucking panic machine.

He swallowed uncomfortably. Where was that damn bubble when he needed it?

“Jim,” Bones said in a warning tone.

The stern voice brought him back to earth.

“Okay, okay,” he said breathlessly, backing down. His shoulders dropped. “I’ll tell Spock...if...if I…” He couldn’t make himself say the dreaded words. “...something happens,” he finished lamely.

“Darlin,’ that’s all I ask,” Bones whispered, giving him another kiss.

Bones gave him a final warning look before heading upstairs.

As soon as Jim sat down across from Jojo at the table, the doors to the garden opened. Jim began to shuffle the cards.

Nora smiled at Jojo. “I'll get your breakfast now, dear, and you can just sit and enjoy your time with your Uncle Jim and Mister Spock.”

“Okay, Nana!” Jojo said absently, leaning forward with her elbow on the table, her chin on her hand.

She didn’t even acknowledge Spock as he sat down beside her.

“Ready?” He eyed her, fighting a smile at the serious look on her face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Spock?”

“Indeed.”

Jim dealt the cards into three piles, plus one in the middle, relieved his hands were steady the entire time.

“Who goes first?” Jojo asked.

“Age before beauty, right Jojo?” Jim smirked. “Spock, you go first.”

Jojo smiled. Spock’s mouth barely twitched at the corners, but it was enough. Jim inwardly preened that he’d made him smile.

“Very well.” Spock paused, staring at each of the cards in his hand briefly. “Miss Joanna, do you have a Swordfish?”

She shook her head adamantly. “Go fish!” she announced.

Spock took a card from the pile.

“Jojo,” Jim urged gently.

“Uncle Jim, do you have a…” She scrunched up her face. “Jellyfish?”

He made a face and handed her his Jellyfish. “Card shark,” he muttered.

“Mister Spock, do you have a Goldfish?” she asked excitedly. “Oh, these are pretty. I think I like these, too, Uncle Jim!”

“I do not, Miss Joanna. Go fish,” he said gently.

Jojo eagerly took another card and added it to her hand. Spock and Jojo both looked at him.

“Your turn, Uncle Jim,” Jojo said.

“Mister Spock, do you have...” Jim asked slowly, rubbing his chin.

He had his favorite, a Shark. And also a Clownfish. He usually wasn’t this slow making decisions during card games, but it was like a shark stood on one shoulder and a clown fish on the other, each begging for his attention.

He stopped, blinking when the choice came to him with startling clarity. A different card altogether. It wasn't a fish but it was there just the same.

_Humpback Whale._

“A...Humpback Whale?” he asked, frowning.

Expression unreadable, Spock handed him a card.

He turned it over, heart racing, though he didn’t know why. It was the card he’d needed. That’s all. Just a card.

“Uncle Jim, are you okay?” Joanna asked in a small voice.

“Yeah,” he said, offering her a tight smile when she looked doubtfully at him. “Sure am.”

He breathed out slowly through his nose. It was his turn again, and though Jojo was looking at him expectantly, he couldn’t pull his attention away from Spock.

He rubbed his face and glanced at his hand. Before he even had a chance to consider his choices again, the answer came to him again like someone slugged him on the head.

 _Starfish_.

His breath caught. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at Spock.

“Starfish,” he said evenly, not even taking the time to form the proper question.

As Spock handed him another card and their fingers brushed in passing, the things that had been nagging at him—about his hallucination, about Bones by his side on the porch and Spock on the other, about Vulcans, and touching, and pie, and safe places in the mind—all came to the surface.

His throat tightened at the realization, and he had to only look at Spock to know that he was right. These thoughts had come from _him_.

Spock pressed back into his chair, as if to give him space. Because now there was a hell of a lot less space between them, by no fault of their own.

“Bones, too?” he whispered in stunned realization, staring at him in awe.

Spock looked meekly—apologetically—back at him. “Yes.”

Jim’s eyes widened. He’d died only to be resurrected—to die again so soon. And this time, he’d bring Spock down with him, too.

A Vulcan? Inside Bones’s head? Because of Jim's hallucination?

Bones was going to kill them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, indeed, there is a burgeoning, familial bond between our Triumvirate! It's very subtle...I've left a few clues here and there the past couple of chapters. More on that next chapter. But, I will say Spock is probably using his shields right now. I believe Bones will be a little leery of this new development. O.o
> 
> Hopefully, the inner dialogue in the first scene in Jim's POV gives a little more substance behind this plan of his. I had always intended to elaborate on that in this chapter, and I do hope it clears up any questions you may have had about it.
> 
> But...who knows what will happen when it is all said and done. ;)
> 
> Plumeria47 is very clever. I just have to note it was her idea to give a nod to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home by using the Humpback Whale card. No not a fish, but it was too perfect NOT to include! 
> 
> I am on Tumblr again as [arrowinthesky](http://arrowinthesky.tumblr.com) . Please feel free to look me up. I will follow back!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love hearing from you about the story! More soon...


	12. I’m never gonna have to guess (what’s on your mind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I have to apologize for not keeping up with my self-imposed posting schedule. I suppose this is a marathon, not a sprint. ;) Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Thank you, Plumeria47, Junker5, and Diamondblue4, for the edits, critiques, and support as I write these chapters. I appreciate it more than I can say!
> 
> This chapter begins in McCoy's POV, after he leaves the kitchen. Hope you enjoy the read...

His hair standing on end, McCoy looked over his shoulder not once, not twice, but three times on his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

He’d never been one to be paranoid. Yet he had the distinct feeling that he was being followed. And not by just ‘anyone.’ By Jim and Spock. Which was both ridiculous and impossible, considering that the last he’d checked, neither were ghosts nor invisible.

He felt like a fool, craning his neck every other step when he’d left them downstairs playing cards, Joanna’s laughter ringing through the air as he walked up the stairs. They were not beside him on the steps, but if he were to be honest, it felt like they were breathing down his neck. He’d been fighting what seemed to be their presence in his mind all damn morning. Maybe even the day before, too, now that he thought about it. Ever since Spock knocked on Jim’s door this morning, the feeling had gotten even worse.

He’d been more worried about the Vulcan today than in all their days working together on the Enterprise combined. And if that wasn’t a scary enough...

There was Jim.

He couldn’t explain the level of intimacy he had with him, or the presence he sustained in his mind, except that it bordered on an depth that was, as Spock would say, “illogical,” even before he’d stepped out of the kitchen. If this was the case, then how was he going to accomplish the tasks before him? He feared Spock was actually breaking down, and Jim occupied so much of the remaining space in his mind that he had to go through what seemed to be a barrier of “Jim” before he could get to his own damn thoughts about anything else.

He sighed and blamed his lack of sleep and finished trudging up the stairs. His room was just as he’d left it the other night. Immaculate and orderly because he’d slept in Jim’s room, instead. He plopped down on the bed, comm loose in his hands, absently twirling it.

He wanted to call Jocelyn first to get the damn comm over with. She’d never been an angel, even when they’d been in their so-called “honeymoon stage.” For lack of a better word, she’d always been somewhat of a bitch, more-so since their divorce. Rarely did she act cordial. Lately, however—or maybe ever since she’d met Treadway—she’d been an entirely different person. Even more negative, if that were possible, and bordering on cruel whenever it concerned him. He’d witnessed no sign of her previous compassion, as limited as it had already been, or any of her previous open-mindedness. Instead, her actions revealed a growing selfishness, a lack of consideration for her own daughter.

There was no question that she was successful. Her brains had helped her family’s business, her management bringing it a high level of success. If she were that intelligent, no doubt constantly dealing with people who tried to pull one over on her, how could she fall for Treadway’s claims and delusions? The way she was acting, one would think that it wasn’t for just the custody of Joanna that she was marrying Clay.

He inhaled unsteadily. Maybe she wasn’t actually falling for his claims, after all. Maybe she truly wanted the father of her daughter to suffer. If that were the case, then he was the fool to have married her in the first place.

Jocelyn wasn’t the only factor to his problem. He wasn’t exactly sure that Treadway would stick around long after they were married. He could get his ‘new life’ by milking his marriage with Jocelyn for all that it was worth—but in only two or three years, maximum. It sounded absurd, but he’d seen similar things in the lives of entertainers and movie stars. Even Starfleet officers.

In good conscience, could he allow Joanna to endure this unstable environment, knowing it would most likely end in a year or two? Or should he fight, despite an even greater chance that he’d lose the fight altogether and therefore make things worse? Possibly irrevocably damaging his relationship with Joanna?

Could he trust Spock enough to agree to the conditions he’d laid out for him? Could he supposedly ‘give up’ his daughter in return for an evening meal at his mother’s? Could he trust Spock’s instincts about his own ex-wife and yield the situation to him? Even at risk to Jim if Spock’s plan failed?

No matter what he did or chose to do, someone was going to get hurt.

His mind racing at warp speed, he tossed the comm on the bed and stood, determinedly grabbing his PADD. It was do or die. He had to get this over with. He’d delayed long enough.

Sighing, he typed furiously on the device and pulled up Jim’s medical records. There were a limited number of people who could access these. The ones on a need to know basis. Dr. Boyce, of course, four nurses, two techs, and three physical therapists.

McCoy’s eyes slipped down to the next line, his heart lurching in his chest. He swallowed with effort, a lump painfully lodged in his throat.

Make that five nurses.

Since when were there five? He had not authorized this…

He ran a hand over his face, breathing raggedly. He could hardly register the fifth name, because by reading it just this one time, he knew that _this_ was the one. No one else had ‘history’ with Jim. No one. There were no previous connections between Jim and the first four nurses.

Only with one.

The fifth and, coincidentally, the most recently added to their team. The one who probably had the most to lose, the most Treadway could use against her.

Someone like Treadway wouldn’t have had to look too far to see the connection, given how rumors had spread about her and Jim.

The room shrank, all four walls pressing in on him. Neck heating, he tugged on his shirt, loosening his collar as he reread the names of the nurses given access.

Vic Philips.

Delilah Idlewood.

Wyn Che’na.

Sean O’Conner.

Four trustworthy medical personnel, handpicked by Boyce and himself.

And the fifth…at one time, he’d trusted her as well.

_Christine Chapel._

“Good God,” he whispered, his shock no less mind-numbing as he said her name aloud. “Christine?”

How the hell could she betray them like this? Even if she had been threatened, it still felt like a betrayal. He _knew_ her. _Jim_ knew her. He'd _hated_ that she'd left the Enterprise. No one could replace her. He was still trying to fill the void she’d left in his sick bay.

She was tough, yes, but had a bedside manner he envied. She was smart. Didn't suffer fools. She upheld integrity at all times in regards to her work. Except, now, clearly she didn't.

She was _smart_.

He’d always had faith in Chapel as a nurse. As a human being. Even after she’d left the Enterprise, her hasty departure placing a false sense of blame on Jim for what had transpired between them. Which had been nothing of consequence, a fabrication made up by Jim himself to save _her_ reputation.

It worried him that she could be manipulated like this, to hand over a damn time— _1448_ —to someone like Treadway. It worried him, because it indicated that Treadway’s threat was serious enough for Christine to believe it.

He began a mental list of possible scenarios, all of which ended with shortening someone’s life. Chris’s own life. Maybe even Jim’s. What hold did Treadway have over her?

He’d thought she was stationed elsewhere. At a starbase that the Enterprise had never encountered. When had she returned to Earth? When had Boyce, the only other person who could authorize her involvement with Jim’s case, spoken with her? Why had he not known? Or run into her at Starfleet General?

There were too many questions to consider on his own. He tapped a few numbers on the device. With any luck, Boyce would be willing to speak with him, despite the hour.

He waited, trying the number twice. In under a minute, a disheveled Boyce appeared on the screen.

“Leonard,” he grunted. “You do realize I just got off a twenty-hour shift.”

“Sorry about that, but I wouldn’t have contacted you had it not been urgent,” he said.

“Is it Jim?” Boyce asked in a scratchy voice. He leaned forward, eyes sharpening. “How’s it going down there with Jim and your mother? He isn’t worse, is he?”

“He’s doing well today,” he said truthfully. “I’m hoping his numbers will improve this week. But, given what they’ve been up until now, it will be a miracle if we can move up our schedule.”

“This is the type of treatment takes time, Leonard,” Boyce said. “More time than we think we are willing to give. And if you ever need a break, Jim certainly wouldn’t fault you for it.”

“I’m doing fine,” he said evenly.

Boyce narrowed his eyes. “Fine, huh? I know you, Leonard, and I can tell when you’re burning the candle at both ends. There’s something going on. _Is_ it Jim?”

“Chapel,” he said, tone brusque.

Understanding filled the other doctor’s expression. He nodded. “I wondered if you’d see her name in his file. She was recently transferred and given that she has treated Jim in the past, I took advantage of her transfer as soon as I could. I requested her to work on Jim’s case.”

“When was that?” he asked.

“Just before you left for Atlanta,” Boyce explained. “I’d bumped into her during my break. There was no time for us to discuss it, however. Given Chapel’s expertise, there were a lot of people wanting her. You have no idea the strings I had to pull to keep her.”

“She’s a damn good nurse,” he agreed quietly.

“Why the interest, Leonard?” Boyce asked, his eyes even sharper than before. “Surely you’re not contacting me only to ask about her name in Jim’s file.”

“I’m not sure I can say at the moment,” he said honestly. “I need more information. Once I get that information, I promise I will do my best to explain the situation.”

“You can’t say, or you won’t say?” Boyce asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Do you not trust her with this knowledge of Jim? For what it's worth, she's only acted in the utmost professional manner about it all. Not even blinking an eye, except for the initial shock that Jim had survived irradiation.”

He found himself biting his tongue. Informing Boyce, a department head at SFG, that he believes Chapel was being threatened and manipulated into giving up information from medical records was a serious accusation. What she was doing was an illegal act even if they _couldn't_ prove she’d been threatened. He'd hate to paint her in a negative light if he didn't have to.

“I’ll tell you when I can. It could be nothing, and since that might be the case, please don't tell Chris that I inquired about her,” he said decisively, offering no further explanation. “But I will be contacting her on my own.”

Boyce nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll agree to that. You do look at things from all angles and I trust you, Leonard,” he said. “Only, do me one favor.”

“And what is that?”

“I might be going out on a limb here, but if it’s concerning the safety of your patient, a high profile Starfleet captain, don’t wait to tell me or the authorities.”

McCoy feigned disinterest. Surely Boyce had no idea....

“Don’t wait too long to act,” Boyce continued. “I’ve seen a lot over the course of my career. Not much surprises me anymore.”

Given Boyce’s decades of experience, he had no doubt that was case. For one instant, he was tempted to reveal all. It tempted him, having someone on their side that would do all he could to stop Jim’s records from going public. But Treadway’s confidence gave him a foreboding feeling that the ex-boxer truly did have more than just a time to threaten them with.

He gave him a small smile to ward off any doubts that he was, in fact, scared shitless that he’d make the wrong choice and this house of cards they were living in would tumble down.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Good,” Boyce says, eyes softening. “Now, enjoy your time away with Jim and your family, if you can.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Get some rest, too, McCoy,” Boyce ordered.

The screen faded to black.

He should speak with Christine next, but he didn't. On auto-pilot, he tried to contact his child’s mother.

“ _It’s about the message I sent you, isn’t it?”_ Jocelyn said before he could get in a word edgewise.

“Tell him to stop threatening my staff,” he ordered.

“ _What?”_ she exclaimed.

As if she didn't know, he thought bitterly. “Tell him to stop threatening Jim, too,” he emphasized in a growl. “He’s gone too far, and there will be consequences. We will file the threat and I intend to get a restraining order. He’s out of line, Joce.”

“ _What? I don’t know what you mean,”_ she said after a pause.

“You can't be that oblivious to his actions,” he accused. “Tell him to stop, and I’ll…”

He deliberately allowed his words to fade, prompting her response.

“ _And you’ll what, Len?”_

The nickname irked him. “Tell him to stop. Then, come here for dinner—”

“ _Dinner?”_ she laughed like the thought was absurd.

“Yes, dinner, and, in return,” he continued, swallowing before he choked on his next words, “I’ll give up Joanna.”

She didn’t speak for a minute.

Maybe two.

He pulled the device away from his ear and glanced down, just to check they were still connected.

They were, and she still didn’t reply.

“Give me two more days with Joanna, Joce. Not including this one. Then, come for dinner,” he explained quietly. “Alone.”

 _“Is this some trick?”_ she hissed.

He wished it were. “No—”

“ _After all of this, you’re just going to give her up?”_

He really was.

He sighed. “I saw his fists, saw them with my own eyes on the holovid feed. He threatened Jim. Would’ve hit him, too, square in the face, had Spock not shown up. Quite frankly, that’s going too far. I can’t risk the health of my critically ill patient. He can’t afford to be injured like that, Joce. He can’t even go out in public because the risk of infection is too great.”

“ _You’re infatuated with him,”_ she bit out.

No, he was in love with him. There was a difference.

“Would you like to watch it for yourself? Your fiancé towering over a sick, weaker and underweight, defenseless man?” he deflected.

“ _You’ll give her up?”_ she asked, obviously avoiding the truth.

“If he doesn’t retaliate after we file the charge. And if you come for dinner,” he said hoarsely, emotion stinging his eyes. “Yes, I’ll give her up.”

“ _What time?”_ she gritted out as if through clenched teeth.

He’d make it early. “Five.”

“ _I guess I overestimated you, Leonard,”_ she said haughtily. _“I’ve been prepared to fight, but now it seems you won’t fight at all.”_

“As long as Joanna remembers that her father didn’t fight dirty like you, that he never lowered himself to hurt another human being, then I reckon I’m the winner,” he said quietly. “Because now Treadway will have a record. One day when she's old enough, the truth will stare her in the face. Even if you deny it, the account of this crime won't.”

Hands shaking, he cut the connection.

“I’m sorry, Bones,” a soft voice said from the doorway of his room.

He looked up. Jim leaned against the doorframe, head resting heavily against it.

“How’d you make it all the way up here?” he demanded to know. He stood and immediately went over to him, putting his hands on his shoulders as he checked him over. “You shouldn’t have climbed the stairs, Jim.”

“It wasn’t too hard,” Jim protested, smiling weakly. “I’m feeling better.”

“That was more exercise then you’ve had in six weeks combined,” he grumbled, worried when Jim didn't deny it. “And how, exactly, am I going to get you back downstairs?”

“Let me rest up here for awhile?”

He kissed Jim, tasting his breakfast—pie. “You’re a stubborn man,” he whispered.

“I’m fine, Bones,” Jim murmured back, eyes wide and searching. “Really.”

“You can rest on my bed,” he said firmly.

“Thanks.” Jim straightened and entered his room, his gaze dropping to the holos in frames that he had sitting on his nightstand.

Three were of himself and Jim, the ones he also kept copies of on the Enterprise. Two were of Joanna. And the sixth was the three of them.

He needed another of the three of them, just in case Spock was wrong.

“It’s going to work, Bones,” Jim whispered as if he’d read his mind. He picked up one of the holos. “There isn’t anything Spock can’t do.”

“Right. He can’t stop getting under my skin,” he muttered. “Did you think of that?”

Jim rolled his eyes, setting the holo back down. “Speaking of that…” he looked back at him apologetically.

And there it was again. The buzz. The never-ending thoughts of Spock. Of Jim.

“What?” he sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck, the base of his skull. “Are you claustrophobic in here, or is it just me?”

Jim peered at him carefully. “What do you mean?”

He huffed. “I keep worrying about Spock, that’s what.”

“He’s fine,” Jim said, shrugging. “Anxious, maybe, but fine.”

“Anxious about you,” he said.

 _And you_ …a voice added from nowhere.

He looked at Jim, wondering if it was him who’d spoken.

_And you, Doctor McCoy._

“And me. He’s anxious for...me,” he echoed faintly, frowning at Jim, who’d begun to rub his temple.

_I’m dizzy. Bones is gonna kill me._

_Indeed, you should not have climbed the stairs, Jim._

McCoy shook his head. Jim? Spock? How the hell was he hearing them in his head?

He was going crazy…

_Haven’t felt this weak in the knees since I first set eyes on Bones…and I was sitting down then. Also felt something else, but we won’t go there._

_Captain, that is information I do not require to know at this point in time or otherwise…_

_Tough. You’re the one who got us into this mess._

McCoy looked wide-eyed at Jim, feeling all of the blood rushing from his face.

Oh... _shit_.

“Jim,” he warned.

Jim glanced sideways at him, wincing with a ‘who me?’ expression on his face.

_Captain, it was…_

_...an accident. I know. I know. And he will understand…._

_…._

_Spock, c’mon. He will._

_…_

_Well, maybe._

“You’re dizzy?” he snapped. “Weak in the knees? Sit _down_.”

Never mind that he had a Vulcan and an idiot talking about him in his own mind.

“Now,” he snarled.

Jim’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, you, ya moron,” he snapped. “You’re dizzy, right?”

Jim’s shoulders slumped. He dropped like a fly onto the bed. “You could say that.”

“You’re in my head, Jim,” he said through clenched teeth. “The hobgoblin, too.”

The buzz instantly became a roar. The buzz...was …

_A bond, Doctor McCoy._

_A bond, Bones._

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered tightly, dropping beside Jim on the bed.

That was the last thing he needed, wasn’t it? He saw a lifetime before him of unwelcome dwellers in his head. Even if one of them was named Captain Moron.

He denied with every fiber of his being that he’d heard them in his head.

“No,” he said adamantly, shaking his head. “This isn’t happening.”

“It won’t be that bad, Bones,” Jim whispered, placing his hand on his knee. “Really.”

He shot right back up to his feet, pointing his finger at him.

“Oh, no…” he began, his voice nearing a shout. Jim winced as if he’d hurt him. “You’re not seriously...you’re not sayin’ what I’m thinkin’...No!”

Jim gulped, looking guiltily up at him. “Uh, Bones…”

“No,” he barked, denying it for a second time. “ _No_.”

 _Yes,_ the second voice chimed in.

He palmed his forehead. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not to him.

_Spock?_

There was no answer. _Typical._

_…_

_He does that sometimes, Bones._

He glared at Jim. “So, now he's being quiet? He's the only one that could've caused this to happen. Is he running away with his tail between his legs?”

Jim sighed, shoulders slumping. “He’s sorry, if it helps,” he said in a low murmur. “It was an accident. Actually if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. My damn hallucination.”

“It’s not your fault,” he gritted out. “Can it be reversed?”

Jim shook his head. “Not without side effects.”

“So, in other words...no,” he said tightly. “It's unbreakable.”

He wouldn’t let Jim suffer more than what he was already suffering.

Jim winced. “Right. But, it won’t be too bad.”

“Hearing two voices when I’m in the middle of a surgery won’t be too bad?” he asked sarcastically.

“Spock said we’ll be able to learn to block each other quickly, because it’s only a low-level bond. A familial bond. And...a little on the erratic side right now.” Jim’s eyes brightened. “Just think how helpful it’ll be when we’re on the ship and one or two of us beam down.”

“That’s cheating!” he accused.

“That’s taking advantage of something other captains and first officers and CMOs don’t have,” Jim said pointedly.

“I like my privacy,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And so do you.”

“I know you do,” Jim said quietly. “And although this is exciting to me, I know it’s not as exciting for you.”

“The novelty of it wore off in about half a second,” he said through clenched teeth. If he got through this without cracking his teeth into smithereens, it'd be a miracle.

“Look at it this way. You were broadcasting things pretty loudly just now,” Jim said. “You don’t have to explain anything to us.”

“You know about Christine?” he asked, chest tightening.

“Yeah,” Jim said, nodding. “And that Joce thinks you’re, well, crazy.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked breathlessly.

Jim looked at him quizzically. “Uh, hopefully not kick me out of your mother’s house now that I brought us together like this.”

“It’s a rhetorical question, Jim,” he said sarcastically, scowling.

“Oh,” Jim replied in a small voice.

“You came into my life as this punk kid, tearing it apart. You built it back up only to tear it apart again...and build it back up for a second time. And now? You’re a part of me in a way...I never expected.” He paused, breathing heavily. His world had been in constant chaos because of Jocelyn and Treadway. Jim was the one thing that wasn’t chaos. Yes, he was constantly moving and challenging him with his intensity and passion, but he also gave him life at the same time. “You’ve broken me, Jim. I don’t know...I don’t know if I can take...more.”

“You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” Jim asked, his eyes filling with anxiety. “Dammit, Bones. I never….I mean...I didn’t plan—”

“It’s not your fault,” he swiftly interrupted before he could get much further.

“It sort of is,” Jim said in a defeated tone, stretching out on the bed. “If I hadn't flipped out….damn PTSD…” he muttered.

He stared up at the ceiling.

Looking pitiful.

McCoy inwardly groaned. He couldn’t stand it when Jim looked that way—dejected or guilty or whatever else he was feeling. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Spock said we can manage this?”

“Yeah,” Jim said roughly. “It’ll take some work, but he can’t shield us forever. It’s already affecting him.”

“Wait,” he said, glancing sideways at him with a frown. “That’s what has been bothering Spock all this time? That’s why he ate the pie? Because he was channeling you?”

Jim looked up at him sheepishly. “Um, yeah?”

“Unbelievable,” he groaned.

_Just what I need. Another Jim Kirk. Might as well poke myself in the eye now and get it over with._

_Hilarious, Bones._

“It’s been hard for him to shield us so much,” Jim explained, exhaling slowly and tapping his fingers on his chest. “It’s not good, at least I don’t think it is, though Spock begs to differ. He wanted to keep it from you a little while longer so you can deal with Christine and Jocelyn, but it’s caused him some headaches this morning. And he’s had to meditate a little more than usual to keep himself….stabilized.”

Guilt flooded him. “Hell, Jim, I don’t want Spock to suffer because of this…” He faltered. He hated the idea of his own stubbornness—his stupidity—harming Spock at all. “If I can help this along, then so be it.”

Jim smiled fondly at him. “That's the spirit, Bonesy.”

He rolled his eyes. “That does not mean I like it.”

“I know,” the younger man murmured, his fingers stilling. “But it’s the start to a beautiful relationship, a friendship Vulcan style.”

He suppressed his irritation and sighed. “I didn’t want it, Jim.”

“I know, Bones. But we have it now, and we need to make the best of the situation,” he said in a captainly voice, despite his yawn. He closed his eyes.

_I should let Jim eat more pie. A big, fat, juicy piece of..._

McCoy narrowed his eyes. Not in a million fucking years did he think that. “The hell, Jim?”

“I told you this bond thing would come in handy.”

“Infant,” he muttered, plopping down beside him on his side.

Jim opened one eye. “Jojo is waiting for me, but maybe you can go down there for awhile? Take my place?”

McCoy reached over and caressed his cheek. “I’ll come up to get you in half an hour.”

“Okay,” Jim murmured, eye fluttering shut. “Just be prepared. I swear Jojo has x-ray vision and can see my cards.”

“I’ll keep the warning in mind.” He squeezed his hand. “But that skill is actually hereditary, ya know.”

Jim hummed noncommittally in his throat. “I always knew something was strange about you,” he whispered.

“Strange?” He quirked a brow though Jim’s eyes were still closed. “Like this bond, I’d say it comes in handy, especially when it concerns the man I love. If you knew him—his self-sacrificial behavior—you’d understand.”

 _I’m sorry I’m all this work, Bones,_ came the hesitant, quiet reply in his mind.

He kissed his cheek before he left, Jim already half-asleep.

_It’s not work when you’re you and I’m me. I wouldn’t have it any other way, Jim._

 

oOo

 

Two hours later, after he'd made his own communications, Spock brought two glasses of sweet iced tea out to the back porch. He approached McCoy, who was alone and staring off into the distance.

“Are Jim and Jojo still having those staring contests?” McCoy asked absently.

“Indeed.”

McCoy’s lips twitched at the corners, his eyes sparkling with unprecedented amusement. “They usually have to call a tie. That, or Jim succumbs to laughing once she resorts to picking her nose for the win.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

He handed McCoy the extra glass.

The doctor cocked a brow but didn’t refuse the refreshment. “Trying to sweeten me up, are ya?”

“That is not my intention,” Spock said.

“Well, wouldn’t blame ya if you were. This bond thing is going to take some getting used to,” McCoy muttered, holding his glass up to him. “Cheers.”

Spock did not lift his glass.

McCoy took a second look at him, frowning. “I’m putting my best foot forward, though I don’t like it,” he added.

“You do not have to explain,” Spock stated. “What I have done is deplorable, and is a punishable offense.”

“Don’t give me that. What you’ve done?” McCoy scowled. “Haven’t we been over this? It’s Jim, that force of nature that one day is going to be the death of me.”

“He is not at fault, either, a fact of which you are well aware, Doctor,” Spock said dryly.

McCoy sighed and waved a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, well, I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

“Please do not attempt to do so on my account. Any attempt will be futile.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to blame you?”

“It would be deserving,” he said flatly.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” McCoy gently said.

Spock thought for a moment, about the strain he experienced as he attempted to shield McCoy and Jim from himself. The guilt that he had pressed this bond upon them for the rest of their lives.

That was more than sufficient punishment, for it distanced him from them in a way that he could not bear for any length of time. He carried the guilt alone. He had lacked self-control as he had desperately tried to shield Jim from his episode of post-traumatic stress on the porch, his human side dominating his Vulcan heritage as his concern for the Captain escalated beyond all logical limits.

“No,” he admitted.

“I didn’t think so,” McCoy murmured, glancing sideways at him.

“However, I am fully aware of your misgivings concerning the bond, Doctor McCoy,” Spock continued. “The intricacies of the bond justify your concern. They impact the mental well-being of both the Captain and yourself.”

McCoy’s brow furrowed. “It's caused Jim to become fatigued a bit sooner than I like. I’m not sure he’ll be able to go with us to the bookstore after all.”

Spock looked down at his iced tea. “I am at fault,” he murmured. “It is a burden he cannot bear.”

“It’s not a burden, not in the sense that you think it is.” McCoy gave him a small smile. “Did you hear the excitement in his voice when he spoke of utilizing the bond during missions? He’s like a little kid.”

“We will never employ the bond as he suggested,” Spock asserted.

McCoy’s eyes widened. “Now wait a minute.”

“Doctor McCoy, it should not have developed and I will do everything in my power to inhibit it.”

“You need to just step back and listen to yourself,” McCoy said, glaring at him. “Yeah, it’s not terribly convenient for me, and I’m not sure I’ll get used to it anytime soon, but I won’t deny the benefits. What if the comms are down? And Jim is hurt? And you need me to beam down? You use the bond, that’s what. If it comes down to Jim’s safety, then it’s worth the unease I’m having in my brain right now.”

“I cannot in good conscience—”

“Yes, you can, and you will,” McCoy demanded. “I can read between the lines, here. To do what you’re suggesting would take a lot out of ya, goes against what’s natural, and you can be damn sure that Jim would have none of that. In fact, it’d make him feel worse. Me, too, for that matter.”

Silence grew uncomfortable between them, and Spock found himself immersed in a mental anguish of his own making.

“It is a punishable offense,” he murmured, cringing as he considered speaking of it to his father and his subsequent response.

“So you’d feel better if you fess up, is that it?” McCoy said in disbelief.

“Yes.”

McCoy shook his head. “Spock, neither one of us want you to blame or doubt yourself. There are other factors to consider. Please, for Jim’s sake, don’t do anything rash. He needs you here.”

“Very well,” he said after a pause. “I will merely consider my options.”

“That’s all I’m askin’,” McCoy drawled, sipping his tea. “We have enough blaming and offending going on. Speaking of…” He cleared his throat. “I have a feeling you got in touch with local law enforcement about Treadway?”

“Affirmative,” Spock said. “I informed them of Captain Kirk’s condition and advised that they take that in consideration. They have, and will arrive here at your mother’s home at 1400 hours, at which time he will sign the appropriate papers with them as his witnesses.”

McCoy looked relieved. “Good,” he murmured. “At least we don’t have to risk his health taking him into a facility. I’m nervous enough as it is. If they make more out of this—”

“They will not.” Spock said.

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“I have contacted Starfleet and we will have the appropriate...back up.”

McCoy guffawed. “Back-up?”

“We should expect two Starfleet law enforcement officials to arrive at at 1300 hours, who will accompany Jim’s lawyer.”

McCoy sucked in a breath. “You sure about all of this? This is...getting bigger, Spock. You gotta admit, that’s a pretty big security blanket.”

“I am aware of the impression this gives, Doctor,” he said softly. “However, we will not divulge more than what is necessary. Given that our meeting today with the officials is in regards to Jim and his desire to file for a restraining order against Treadway following the threat of his safety on the porch, we will not be pressed to elaborate on the situation. Treadway can under no circumstances believe that we will ignore his threats. If we do ignore them, he will simply continue to threaten and use others.”

McCoy grew quiet. “I’ll have to insist that Jim stay behind, then. I can see him getting worn out quickly from our field trip, even he is just sitting in the holocraft.”

“He will understand,” he murmured, adding, “I assume that Nurse Chapel has not returned your message?”

He knew, of course, that she hadn’t, but McCoy seemed reluctant to share anything regarding her and her supposed betrayal.

“Would you, if you were her?” McCoy replied, giving a mirthless laugh. “I have a mind to go ask her for myself, instead of messing around with the comms and messages she probably won’t answer.”

“You cannot leave Jim unattended here,” he said. “Perhaps I should return to San Francisco and approached her on your behalf.”

“You’ve done so much already,” McCoy said, shaking his head. “And we need you here for the dinner.”

“I assure you I would return to your mother’s home before the engagement.”

“Let me think about it,” McCoy muttered. He swallowed the remainder of his tea, smacking his lips in satisfaction when he was done. “I don’t want to back her in a corner, although I’m sure you wouldn’t do something like that to her…”

McCoy threw him an expectant look.

Spock quirked a brow. Did he expect him to ‘play fair?’ When all that Treadway had done was cause the misery and fear? Indeed, he could not respond in a passive manner. If Chapel would not explain her part in the threat, he would do all that he could to convince her and appeal to her heart for Jim’s sake. And for Joanna's. “I do not know as to what you refer.”

The doctor lifted a brow higher than his. “I have a feeling about you and all of this. You’re keeping things close to your chest, which leads me to believe that something’s bound to boil over one of these days, as they do when things seem too...quiet.”

Spock took his first sip of tea.

He rather liked the ‘quiet,’ and continued drinking his refreshment in the preferred silence, without acknowledging McCoy’s last statement. He could not deny that he, too, felt the foreboding weight of all of their combined actions. Nonetheless, the actions were unavoidable, necessary to the success of this mission.

“I’ll see you out in the craft,” McCoy finally said, getting up from his seat on the swing. He paused beside him before he left the porch. “It’s good to be three, Spock. It’s good, no matter what happens,” he said with a rare affection. “Despite my grumbling, it’s better not to be alone in this.”

He was not given to emotion but McCoy’s last sentiments, which, despite the lack of appropriate Vulcan words to describe what he was experiencing within his heart, struck a chord. He swallowed with difficulty, before taking another sip of his tea.

Being three was, indeed, good.

 

oOo

 

“Are you doing okay, Darlin’?” McCoy asked Jim softly through the comm.

Sitting in the hovercraft, he watched Jojo skip happily beside Spock as they entered The Book Heart. He'd opted to stay behind in the craft for a few extra minutes so he could check on Jim—for the third time since they'd left thirty minutes ago.

Thankfully, Spock had not said a single word about his compulsion to speak with Jim.

“ _Yeah, but I wish I were with you,”_ Jim said wistfully.

“Next time,” he promised. “When we don't have police coming over to interrogate you.”

“ _They're not going to interrogate me.”_

“Better not,” he muttered.

“ _I have a hunch that whomever Spock talked to in Starfleet won't let this get out of hand.”_

“A hunch, huh?”

“ _Yeah. And you know my hunches. They're never wrong,”_ Jim quipped. _“Hey, why are you even still talking to me? Aren't you at the bookstore?”_

“You're addicting,” he drawled.

He heard Jim smile over the comm.

“ _You sure know what to say to a guy,”_ Jim said softly. _“But I'm fine. Really.”_

“Okay,” he sighed. “Wish me luck. Not sure that this guy will recognize me, but he will recognize Jojo. Especially if Treadway were with her the last time they came here.”

“ _Are you worried about him treating you or Jojo differently because of...Treadway?”_

“Would you be?”

“ _I’d be cautious, I guess,”_ he said softly. _“But not worried.”_

“He’s a...strong personality, Jim,” he muttered. "Treadway."

Jim snorted. _“That’s putting it lightly.”_

“I just don't want to ruin things for her,” he said. “Maybe it’s best if just Spock accompanies her inside—”

“ _Get your ass inside, Bones,”_ Jim said abruptly. _“Don’t let someone like Treadway spoil this time you have with Jojo.”_

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I’m going. I’ll comm you when…”

His voice trailed off when Jim yawned “Jim? Ya with me?”

“ _I’ll be asleep, most likely, so just kiss me on the lips when you come home,”_ he said, laughter in his voice.

He rolled his eyes. “As you wish.”

He cut the connection, stepping out of the craft just as it began to pour. “You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, looking up at the sky with a grimace when he remembered he had no umbrella in the craft.

Sighing, he dashed across the street, soaked by the time he made it to the door of the bookstore. The door actually rang when it opened for him, harkening back to the days when bells were hung to notify the store owner of customers.

He ran a hand across his face, squinting around for a tall Starfleet officer and a sprite of a girl. He saw Spock first, standing with his hands clasped behind him. Jojo was nowhere in sight, but McCoy walked up to him anyway, wanting to dry out without getting books wet in the process.

“Did you lose her already?” he asked in jest, eyes scanning every nook and cranny.

“I did not,” Spock said softly, inclining his head towards what appeared to be a massive oak tree, its branches reaching clear to the top of a cathedral style ceiling.

McCoy’s eyes widened in shock. He’d never expected to see such a sight at this store, which had seemed small from all appearances when he saw it at first glance from the outside. His eyes trailed back down towards the roots, which twisted and curved in a dizzying maze that faded as they pointed the way towards various rows of shelves—the children’s books.

Hearing voices, he walked hesitantly around a large root which he then realized provided a perfect if not elaborate seat for reading. He walked a few more steps, finally spying her sitting on the floor beside several other children, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened.

A pleasant looking man in his mid-thirties and wearing glasses sat in the center of the platform before him, reading animatedly aloud from a book. The last page, apparently. For he snapped the book shut and rose from his chair.

“The end,” he said gently.

All the children whined in disappointment, including Jojo.

“Mr. Matthew,” a boy exclaimed. “Read more, please?”

McCoy frowned. Matthew as in Matthew Kennedy? This had to be the store owner.

“Please?” Jojo echoed, wriggling in impatience.

He hid a smirk behind his hand as several children clambered around the man, earnestly pleading that he keep reading.

“You know the rules,” he announced, smiling. “Same time next week.”

“Aww,” chimed a few children, but they ceased their actions and eventually dispersed to other areas around the store.

Jojo’s face was crestfallen as she turned around. She trudged back, and even when she saw him—her father—never cracked a smile.

“Jojo, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Want to look for your books?”

She shook her head. “We missed it, Daddy. We missed the craft and the story just like Mommy missed it.”

He didn’t quite know what to say, given that he’d had no idea when the story was scheduled in the first place. And he had no idea if he’d be able to bring her the next time.

“We’ll find out when story time is next week, and tell your Nana, alright?” he said, crouching down in front of her. “She’ll make sure you’re here.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Daddy, you’re all wet.”

He wiped the water from his forehead. “Wouldn't you know? Just as I got done talking with your Uncle Jim, it started to rain.”

“We do sell umbrellas,” a man said from behind Jojo. “With words printed on them, of course. You’ll have to choose from the likes of Shakespeare, Dickens, or Austen.”

McCoy glanced up to see the same man who’d read the story, holding out his hand. He stood and awkwardly wiped his hand on his pants before offering it. “Sorry…” he said, wincing when he realized his hand was still damp, since his pants were far from dry. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

Matthew smiled as they shook hands. “You must be Miss Joanna’s father, Doctor McCoy.”

He nodded. “And you are Matthew Kennedy, owner and book reader extraordinaire. Those children were captivated.”

The man’s cheeks flushed. “Ange usually reads, but she’s home sick. I’m just...the fill-in.”

Jojo smiled shyly up at him. “I like it when you read, Mr. Matthew. Daddy said Nana will bring me back next time.”

McCoy swallowed back the fear that Jocelyn would ostracize his mother right along with him, therefore breaking the promise he’d made to Joanna on her behalf. He’d do all that he could to make sure Joanna came back here, to a place she clearly loved. Even if he had to beg Joce at dinner two days from now.

“I hope to see you then, Miss Joanna,” Matthew said warmly. He scratched his nose. “Did I imagine this the last time, but weren’t you going to ask me about the next book of the _The Pickle Bear_ series?”

Her eyes widened with excitement. “Is it here? Is it here?” she shouted enthusiastically, clapping her hands.

“It sure is,” Matthew said.

“ _The Pickle Bear?”_ McCoy echoed in amusement.

She nodded. “Uncle Jim loves _The Pickle Bear._ The bear gets himself in all sorts of trouble—so he's ‘in a pickle,”’ she giggled. “But he learns lessons. You should buy him a book, Daddy.”

“He loves the Pickle Bear?” he asked, quirking a brow.

Interesting.

“Everyone loves _The Pickle Bear,”_ Matthew agreed with a straight face.

“Uh-huh, they do,” she agreed. “And Uncle Jim told me he did this morning when you were talking to Mommy, I think,” she said solemnly.

He frowned.

“Because I know that’s where you went when you left breakfast, because you had that look on your face, Daddy,” she continued. “When you haveta talk to Mommy and don’t want to.”

Matthew glanced cautiously from Joanna, to McCoy, and back to Joanna.

McCoy opened his mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere, but she continued.

“And since you love Uncle Jim and he’s sick and you love him,” she repeated, “you should get it for him oh MisterMatthewwherearethePickleBearbookssowecangiveonetoDaddy?” she finished hurriedly, forgetting about him altogether and eagerly glancing up at the bookstore owner.

He wondered if Joanna was always beside herself like this when she came here, spilling family secrets at the same time.

“Right this way, Miss Joanna,” Matthew said hesitantly. “If it’s alright with your father.”

McCoy took a breath, brushing off the entire exchange, beginning with the awkward handshake.

“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” he drawled. He smoothed her hair, his love for her stirring in his chest as she beamed up at him. “Books. Your favorite books. Might as well get one for your Uncle Jim, too, since you recommended it.”

“I love you, Daddy. So much,” she whispered, suddenly wrapping her arms around him and his wet clothing without a single care.

The world stopped as he realized he might never hear those words spoken to him ever again after two days’ time from now. Worse yet, never again feel her love as strongly as he did in that one, blissfully wonderful moment.

 _Never_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? :-) 
> 
> You have been incredibly patient with me regarding this fic and I appreciate it so much. :) 
> 
> I've been anxiously awaiting this chapter...new characters have arrived...yay!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as arrowinthesky though my posts are far and few between these days! I'd love to connect with you there!
> 
> Hopefully I'll update sooner than later. ;) Until next time!


	13. we bleed just to know we're alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know this is a shorter chapter...but it's all I could manage this past week. My "day job" has officially picked up and it was crazy and exhausting as expected. :) However, I didn't want to pass up the chance to post a chapter on the fic-versary of this story today. Huge thank yous to all of you who have stuck around for so long and also to those of you who've come along for the ride since then. Your support means so much. Hopefully, it won't take another year to complete. One fic-versary is enough for me. :D
> 
> Thank you, Plumeria47, junker5, and diamondblue4! I greatly appreciated your edits and critiques about this chapter. And, as always, keeping me on my toes. *HUGS*
> 
> We're still at the bookstore. Hope you enjoy the read!

 

Joanna walked beside Matthew Kennedy to the section with her favorite books with bright eyes, a bounce to her step, and her hair swinging as she chattered. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful, engaging child in the store. And, in fact, drawing eyes from everywhere.

McCoy hung back, putting space between them.

Usually he didn’t care what people thought of him, but the fact that the bookstore owner was the son of the nemesis of Jocelyn’s family made all the difference. What had he been thinking? Bringing Jojo here? If Jocelyn found out…If _Treadway_ found out...

Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to come here after all, when he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. When Joanna was clearly smitten with everything about this store. When it was just one more thing Jocelyn could use against him.

He’d hate for their presence to provoke more negativity between the companies. Not that he thought Matthew Kennedy had a single evil bone in his body. He had just met the man. Yet, he could see that he was genuinely interested in helping his young patron. Not only that, but he’d greeted them with what appeared to be the same welcoming smile as he would everyone else.

Then why did he feel as if he’d made a wrong choice—or at least a dangerous one—stepping inside this store?

“You are emotionally compromised,” Spock said softly, coming beside him.

“What?” McCoy asked.

This probably was the last nail in his coffin. Yes, he’d given her up. Not exactly willingly but he had. And after this...

He would never see Jojo again. Never.

His loving daughter vanishing from his life as painfully as his father had vanished.

“It is my doing,” Spock said, sounding distressed. “The bond is inhibiting you from functioning normally.”

“What? I...no, Spock,” McCoy said, shaking his head to clear his mind. He turned to him. “I’m fine. And we’ve been over this before, already. Even if I weren’t fine, it’s not your fault.”

Spock studied him another moment longer, as if waiting for him to admit that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He didn’t take the bait. Something _had_ shifted in his mind, and maybe he did feel emotionally compromised. But so what? He had a boyfriend—was that what he should call Jim now?—at his Mama’s house who still had a set of treatments to endure. An emotionally compromised state was nothing compared to that.

“Shall I accompany them on your behalf?” Spock finally asked.

“No,” he said, frowning. “I’ll—”

His communicator beeped, stopping him mid-sentence. He sighed.

“Hold on,” he muttered.

He looked down at the screen, his heart momentarily stopping. He blinked several times, adjusting to the wave of anger mixed with anxiety and concern washing over him.

 _Christine_.

Feeling Spock’s eyes upon him, he glanced up. “I need to take this,” he asserted. “Now.”

“I will join Joanna,” Spock said softly. He turned and walked towards Matthew and Jojo before they disappeared around a corner.

McCoy made his way to the front of the store, wanting to find a place to talk to Christine privately. There was none, save for the area behind the counter. It was also raining, even more than when he’d come in. He slipped behind the counter, praying no one would see him for a few minutes.

Would he be accused of hacking into their computers? Chuckling ruefully to himself, he flipped the communicator open. This could be another nail in the coffin.

“Chris,” he said as normally as possible.

“Len,” she replied quietly.

He swallowed down the accusation he’d had in his head earlier this morning. It was too cruel, even in this situation, at least until he had all the facts.

He took a breath. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what?” she asked. “Why I’m at Starfleet General?”

He paused. “Yes.”

“With her mother off planet, Carol needed a friend. I...I needed a change.”

He didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t leave a lucrative position—or space, for that matter. Not that she was drawn to it like Jim, or breathed space like he did, but she preferred life in space. It stretched her abilities, improved her skills. Challenged her. If he knew anything about Christine Chapel, he knew that. She never backed down from a challenge, not if it meant helping others.

“I see. Well, I won’t be back for awhile, Chris,” he said slowly.

“What about his treatments?”

“I’ll take care of them here as long as I can.” He hesitated. “They’ve been bad, Chris.”

“I saw in your notes that they’ve been challenging,” she said. “Are you sure you want to do that in a home?”

“He’s comfortable here, and that’s more important right now. We’ll stay.”

“That’s good, Len,” she said, voice softening. “I know he always liked it there in Atlanta, that it was more of a home to him than Riverside ever was.”

“Spock will be back, though,” he said, weighing his words carefully.

Had she caught the double meaning? Or the loose threat?

She didn’t answer.

“Might be good for Jim and me to have some time alone again,” he said to break the silence, though he really didn’t want Spock to leave. At least not yet. Not before Spock came clean with his plan. “Since we’ve decided friendship just isn’t enough between us.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’re...together? You and Jim?”

He didn’t imagine the strain in Christine’s voice as they ignored the elephant in the room.

“Yes,” he said softly, hoping his new status with Jim would make her think twice about what she was doing. “Together.”

“I’d always thought there’d been more going on between the two of you, even if neither of you were aware of it.” She laughed shakily. “Len, I need to go—”

“Listen,” he interrupted curtly, eyeing two woman who’d walked up to the front counter. He backed away from the front as much as possible, sequestering himself in a corner with a window.

He stared outside despite the rain pelting against the glass, water drops sliding down and obstructing his view.

What was going on inside Christine’s head? Was Treadway threatening her? Or was he using someone else to get to her? He’d never known her to be so difficult. So...withdrawn.

“I have to leave in five minutes,” she said crisply. “I called to see what you wanted, in case it was about the treatments, but this might not be the best time to talk about Jim’s medical condition, after all.”

“You know he threatened Jim?” he murmured.

“What?” she asked in an even more controlled voice. “Who?”

He closed his eyes in frustration. As if she didn't know. This conversation was going awkwardly enough that it pointed straight at her.

“Do I really have to say it?” he breathed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A figure moved beside him, coming behind the counter. McCoy shifted his stance, eyeing Matthew and looking for an indication from him that he’d invaded a space that was off limits.

Kennedy gave him none, only frowned at him as if he were concerned.

He turned his back to Matthew and his customers and braced himself for the truth, though he doubted she’d give him anything. Not even a breadcrumb.

“What is your part in this, Chris?” he whispered, willing her to answer honestly like the Chris he knew.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“That he nearly punched the living daylights outta Jim?” he interjected in a thickened drawl. “Right on my Mama’s front porch?”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Then help me understand,” he pleaded into the comm. “Why would the best nurse that I know break her oath—break laws—and leak private medical information to an asshole?”

She inhaled sharply. “You don’t know, Len. You don’t...understand.”

“Then help me understand,” he pleaded again. “What kind of hold does Treadway have over you? You’re smarter than he is.”

“I can’t, Len,” she said, the shaking of her voice unmistakeable. “He said he’d…”

“He’d what?” he prompted her quietly.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

“No, Chris, this isn’t just about Jim. It’s about Jojo, too,” he pleaded for a third time. “Whatever he’s told you, whatever he’s making you believe, there’s far more at stake than you realize.”

“I can’t, Len,” she said, breaking into a rare sob.

It chilled him to the bone.

He straightened his shoulders. As of this very moment, he had to be ready for anything that would come out of her mouth.

“Chris, if it involves Jim and endangers his health in any way,” he said in his professional tone. “I need to know.”

“Len,” she cried breathlessly. “Stop asking me.”

Something in him broke. “You told him about Jim, didn’t you?” he asked, numbly. “What I did to save him? The serum?”

“No—”

He barely suppressed a snarl. This was still his colleague, whom he’d greatly respected. Up until now. “I swear to God, Chris—”

“Stop asking me, or he’ll—the people he’s working with—will hurt Jim for real next time!” she cried.

His world spun out of control. Again.

Light-headed, he sagged against the window, denying with every fiber of his being that he could ever be this affected by mere threats. But the truth was, he felt more emotionally compromised than ever before.

“What?” he rasped.

“He’ll hurt Jim,” she said in a small voice. “He’ll hurt...my own family. My parents. He's w-watching them.”

This was even worse than he’d thought. Treadway was watching them. Was he watching _Jim_?

“Your parents? Why? How?” he asked hoarsely, forcing the words through his constricting throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gasping. “I can't say more. I’ve already said too much. Stop asking me, Len, or he’ll...”

“He'll what?” he asked in a biting tone, as if she were to blame. “How is he going to hurt Jim? Chris?”

“Do you care for Jim?”

His brows met at the middle. “Yes, I care for Jim. I just _told_ you—”

“If you care for Jim like you say you do, you’ll do _nothing_ ,” she interrupted brusquely. “You’ll say nothing of suspecting me. Otherwise…”

He clenched his jaw. “Tell me. Chris—”

The connection ended.

“—No. Chris. Wait—”

McCoy gripped his comm until his hand hurt, never bringing it down from his ear even when he realized he’d been talking to absolutely no one at the other end.

Why was everything always falling apart? How could he still be in this position? Cornered, like a caged animal? When Treadway was the animal, the one who belonged in a cage?

If he were to mention this to the Starfleet officials coming today, what would happen? Could they protect them—Christine, her parents, Jim—despite Treadway’s threats? Would it do more damage than good? Would Treadway force her to reveal everything about Jim’s recovery? Were they doomed to bend to his will?

“Everything okay?”

At the familiar voice, he automatically stiffened and slowly dropped his hand. He turned, Matthew Kennedy stared at him, a small, hardback book nestled in his hands.

He swallowed, for a split second wishing that he and this bookstore owner could trade places, for this burden he constantly carried to be lifted from his shoulders.

“Fine,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his, avoiding Matthew’s prying eyes and looking down at the book, instead. “Everything’s fine.”

He walked around to the front of the counter where he should’ve been all along, not behind it like he worked here. He sighed with relief that they were the only two at the front of the store now.

“Is that Jojo’s book?” he managed to ask.

There were no words on the cover, only an illustration of a bear, front and center.

“Yes, it is Miss Joanna’s,” Matthew said evenly. He placed it on the counter, his hands pressing down on the cover as he leaned forward with a frown. “Pardon me for being frank, but it doesn’t sound fine,” he continued, gaze steady. “Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” he said without conviction.

“I see,” Matthew said softly.

McCoy hung his head, bracing himself with his arms against the counter. Maybe it was a lie, but it was also a hope. A small hope.

“How many credits do I owe you?” he asked gruffly, not looking up at him.

He tapped his fingers on the counter in agitation.

Matthew was already wrapping the book and placing it in a bag with handles. “None,” he said simply.

He raised a brow, meeting his gaze. He couldn’t just take the thing, could he? Wouldn’t that be a burr in Jocelyn’s saddle.

The idea would be incredibly enticing if things weren’t so serious.

“I’d like to do something nice for Miss Joanna,” Matthew continued before he could put in a word edgewise. “Especially since it might...be difficult for her to come back here. If you want, we could set up an autoship of the next books in this series to her grandmother’s house.”

“Could you disguise it? Use different packaging?” McCoy joked before he could think better of it.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. We could.” Matthew set the bag with the book on the counter, his stare unrelenting. “I have to say, it wouldn’t be the first time we catered to a customer’s needs in that way.”

McCoy could only stare back at the man, who was more intuitive and caring than he ever could’ve ever predicted.

“Right,” he said, swallowing hard. “I apologize if this was...awkward.”

“Awkward?” Matthew said with a shake of his head. “No, not in the least. Awkward would be my step-father actually stepping foot inside my bookstore.”

He frowned. Step-father? Not _father_?

“Why?” he asked, matching Kennedy’s curiosity with his own.

Matthew cocked his head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrowed his eyes on him, but couldn’t place him. “We’ve met before?”

Matthew gave him a small smile. “I was a senior in high school, when you and Jocelyn were juniors.”

“Your graduating class was the smallest one they’d had in decades,” McCoy said, remembering that well. “Sorry to say, I still don’t know who you are.”

Matthew smiled crookedly. “I was the quarterback. I went by Matthew Hawkland back then.”

An image of a severely injured football player on the field during one of the most anticipated games of the season flashed through his mind. The image of the once cocky, most popular athlete of the school did not connect with this studious, quiet man in front of him, who, if he were to be honest, looked like a scholar. Not a jock.

“You disappeared halfway into the season,” he said slowly, “after breaking multiple school—state—records.”

Matthew gave a short dry laugh. “I disappeared alright.”

More came back to him. “An accident,” McCoy said, voice dropping to a whisper. “After that injury, you and your parents…”

He purposefully didn’t finish his statement, stopping himself before he brought up more hurtful reminders for the man who’d lost so much that year.

“After Dad died, my mom married this bank tycoon,” Matthew said without missing a beat. “He didn’t care for the fact that I’d lost my leg from some dumb football accident—”

McCoy fought a wince.

“—or that I got a prosthetic that disguised any limp at all. Only that I wouldn’t try to worm my way into the family business, trying to displace my step-brothers’ positions in the company.” He shrugged. “You could say...I’m the black sheep of the family.”

“But their corporation…”

“Is right down the street?” He narrowed his eyes. “Appearances, you know?

McCoy nodded grimly. He knew all about that. “I’m the one who should apologize, for the conversation I was having, not recognizing you...”

Matthew smiled. “It’s pouring outside, if you’ve forgotten, and where else would you have a conversation in here? No, it’s not a problem. About the other thing, it’s okay. The glasses. This bookstore, of all places. It’s not a football field, obviously. And it’s been what? Fifteen years, at least. I’m...different.

“We’ve all changed,” McCoy said.

“Speaking of that. Jocelyn came when I wasn’t having a good day with my leg,” Matthew said quietly.

McCoy’s heart hardened against his ex-wife. “She gave you the cold shoulder?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. This was a upscale business in one of the prestigious blocks of the city. Of course she’d acted the part, even more so since this man standing in front of him was more or less her enemy.

“She wouldn’t look at me,” the other man admitted. “Her...boyfriend?”

McCoy gave a clipped nod of acknowledgment.

Matthew’s eyes were guarded. “I don’t want to be sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but when they were leaving, Miss Joanna didn't want to go. Jocelyn’s boyfriend practically—”

McCoy knew what Kennedy was going to say before the words came out of his mouth.

He knew that if Treadway had been in proximity, he’d have his hands around the man’s neck.

He knew he’d commit a crime and never see Jim again, let alone Jojo.

He knew that he was going down a dark, dark road with no end in sight.

“—dragged Miss Joanna out the door.”

His breathing grew labored, the silence thickening between them as he conjured up a million different scenarios. The worst being Treadway’s hands on his precious baby girl’s arm, one of his strong hands that had made him a fierce boxer fixed around her small, breakable bones.

His stomach churned. He’d have to take a look at Jojo’s arms the first chance he got. If there was any indication of abuse, he’d have even more with which to contend.

“He hurt her?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Your ex-wife. Jocelyn,” Matthew said slowly, eyeing him carefully. “She’d already left.”

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, shooting him a glare.

Matthew sighed. “Doctor McCoy, I’ll answer you if you can calm down. There are people who, if they come any closer, will hear you.”

“Calm down?” he repeated in a hushed voice. “You have no idea what this bastard is doing—”

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Matthew interrupted, leaning against the counter. He frowned down at his leg, flexing it. “I wasn’t born yesterday, and...my step-father likes to talk. Gossip—even to me.”

“So you’re saying…” He stopped, now confused. Did Kennedy know that Treadway was using Jojo to get to Jocelyn? That Treadway was bad news, using everything in his power to usurp his involvement with his own daughter?

“I’m saying...” Matthew threw a furtive glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to McCoy, stating his next words slowly. “He’s bad news. He doesn’t care about who he hurts to get what he wants. He’s not _you_. And Miss Joanna...I think she knows it.” He paused. “But I think you know that about Treadway, too, don’t you?”

Tears sprung to McCoy’s eyes. He blinked to stop them, nearly struck speechless by the words of a man he’d talked to only a handful of times in his life.

“Yes, yes I do,” he said hoarsely.

Matthew's eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking taken aback.

“And I’ll ask that you never speak about this again. To—"

“Doctor,” another voice said softly beside him.

McCoy stared straight ahead, hardly hearing Spock, his world shrinking around him. When had his life become a fucking train wreck? He’d wanted a peaceful life, as peaceful as it could be in the black with an idiot who couldn't help but be reckless at times, his daughter loved by Jocelyn and his mother, not this wretched mess he was in. Would he not only have to give up Jojo, but give her up to an abusive man? Even if he tried to warn Jocelyn, would she even listen to him? Would he be forced give Jojo up to a monster?

_I will not allow that to happen._

_Spock, you can’t possibly know—_

_I will stop him. I ask that you trust me, Leonard._

“Joanna has decided she misses Jim too much to stay,” Spock stated primly.

McCoy glanced over his shoulder to find Joanna approaching them but with her eyes still glued to the massive tree in the center of the store. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She was so sidetracked she almost tripped over her own feet.

“We would also like to purchase these two umbrellas.” Spock placed the items on the counter.

That immediately caught Jojo’s attention. She turned her head towards them, her eyes wide and dancing with excitement.

“Oh, goodie. Those are so pretty!” she exclaimed, dashing over. “Alice in Wonderland! And...Shakespeare?”

Matthew laughed lightly, revealing none of the previous tension. “Commander Spock has good taste, and you, Miss Joanna, are quite smart.”

“Uh-huh,” she said absently, her attention on something else, already. She rested her chin on the counter, her eyes glued to the bag. “Is that my book?” she whispered.

“It sure is,” Matthew whispered back, his smile just for her.

He handed her the bag over the counter.

“Thank you, Mister Matthew.” She took it in her hands, clutching it to her chest, and turned to McCoy. “I’m ready to go, Daddy. I think Uncle Jim will be missing us.”

“You’re probably right about that, Darlin’. I’m sure he’s missing ya,” he said when he found his voice. He cleared his throat. “However, I have some other business to take care of first before we leave.”

He glanced over at Kennedy.

Matthew looked at him hesitantly. “Is there something else I can help you with?’

“As a matter of fact, there is.” He took a pad and pencil from off the counter—both surprised and impressed that such old-fashioned tools were handy—and scrawled his number on it. “I might be able to help you with that leg. Contact me in a few days, giving me some time to call a few colleagues first.”

Matthew looked down at the paper in disbelief. “I don't know what to say…”

“You don't have to say anything. I’d also like to put Jojo on that mailing list. For the—”

“ _The Pickle Bear_?” Jojo interrupted excitedly.

He smiled down at her. “Yes, Sweetheart. But they'll come to your Nana’s house, not your mother’s.”

Joanna snuggled up against him. “She doesn’t like them, anyway. Thank you, Daddy. I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

Jim stared up at the ceiling in Bones’s room, lost in thought. His body sank down into the mattress as if there were weights pressing in all around him. How could he still be tired after an hour and a half long nap? Granted, he was an irradiation recoveree, but he had been feeling better overall today. Better than he had in months. He’d had more energy this morning, less pain, and a mental clarity he hadn’t had in weeks. It showed him just how much, exactly, the injections took out of him and what he had to look forward to when he was finally done with all of the treatments.

Being himself. Having a normal life. Or as close to a normal life as someone like him could ever have.

Still, he couldn’t understand his fatigue, which had suddenly pinned him to this bed. Unless, it was his own fault that he’d been mentally exercising his bond with Bones and Spock, over and over. Or, rather, not exercising his bond with them.

Since he’d awakened, he’d been practicing a technique Old Spock had shown him. Well, shown the other him. The him who hadn’t been born in space on the day his dad had died.

He, however, had only seen this technique in the “meld gone wrong of the century.” Unless, that hadn’t been an error on the Ambassador’s part and he _—Selek—_ had actually _wanted_ him to see it. Which was a possibility. That made it a meld that had still been wrong, being that he hadn’t understood what was happening until...after it had happened.

Jim had learned the hard way that the Ambassador was sneaky. Possibly sneakier than him.

But if Spock knew what Selek had done...or if Bones knew…

His chest tightened with a fresh anxiety. He decided he needed to perfect this technique if it was the last thing he did, if it took all of his strength.

Who knew that shielding would be so much work?

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, pulling himself up to sit partly reclined instead of flat on his back like an invalid.

“James?” Nora said with a smile. “I wanted you to know that they’re coming home.”

“Already?”

He glanced over at the chronometer, quickly calculating how long they’d been gone. Nearly two hours, which wasn’t long, considering the travel time and then the time Jojo wanted to have at the bookstore.

“Yes,” she said softly, coming to his side. “You know they can’t be far from you for very long.”

“I don’t want them to come home early because of me.”

She shook her head, smiling again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they plan their whole lives around you. You mean that much to them, my dear.”

She placed a glass of iced tea on a coaster on the table beside the bed. “Here’s a bit of a refreshment. If you would like some food, I can bring it up for you.”

“No,” he said swiftly. “I’m fine. The tea is great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “If there’s anything else I can get for you, give me a holler.”

He smiled back. “I will.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Good.”

After she left, he drank the tea and sank back into his pillow.

That he hadn’t “heard” their decision to return through their bond told him that whatever he was doing was working. It was working, and he’d accomplished his goal. He was shielding. And shielding well.

He should have felt satisfied his hard work hadn't been for nothing, but he didn't. His heart beat unsteadily. He raised his arm, resting it on his forehead as a strong feeling of unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

Bones might not recognize the significance of this. In fact, he knew he wouldn't. At least, not on his own.

But Spock would. And he’d be curious, settling for nothing less than the truth from Jim as to how he’d suddenly attained this Vulcan telepathic technique.

As his mind spun with the secrets he’d never told anyone, not even Bones—that he’d been as emotionally compromised as Spock had been during the Narada attacks, suffering for months after that, thinking his world was imploding, hearing the screams of thousands, depressed he wasn’t this other, more stable him—he nearly worked himself into a panic.

The panic came, anyway, in the form of sweating, labored breathing—and guilt.

He was lying by omission to the two people he supposedly trusted the most in all of the black.

And who trusted him...

Jim gulped.

He was in some serious, deep, deep shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambassador Spock=Selek in this verse. Actually, I'm not sure if this really is canon in the Kelvin timeline (nu!trek, reboot, etc.) but I've seen it used plenty of times in other fics to assume it is.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you. :) 
> 
> Do you smell a storm or two (or three) coming? Needless to say, there will be more angst in this story before we're done. :D Until next time!


	14. I want to hold you tight (without holding back my mind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is still alive, I promise. I may not be posting as frequently as I’d like (so so sorry!), but I have every intention of finishing. :)
> 
> Many (MANY!) thanks to plumeria47, diamondblue4, and junker5 for their help with this chapter, for keeping me on my toes, as well as offering loads of encouragement that, quite frankly, I really needed for this post. *Hugs them*
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to all of you who are still reading this fic after all this time - and sticking with Jim and Bones's story. I can't tell you how much that means to me! XX
> 
> Please note that Ambassador Spock/Spock Prime is referred to as Selek in this story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

 

Joanna’s chatter filled the hovercraft on the way home from the bookstore, filling in the spaces caused by McCoy and Spock’s working, telepathic link. Their silent discussion lasted the duration of the drive, McCoy often countering or even discounting Spock’s thoughts. The conversation with Christine—as well as the one with Matthew—had set him on edge, despite the Vulcan’s admirable attempts to stave off his anxiety.

If someone had told him that he’d have a bond with his best friend and a Vulcan Starfleet officer three years ago, he’d have laughed in their faces. Now...it was strangely right, in a weird, other-world kind of way. Not that he would readily admit it.

He’d always admired Spock—except for the time when he’d nearly choked Jim to death—but hadn’t given a lot of thought to the bonds he had. At least, not since Vulcan had been destroyed, when it was obvious the commander had been in a bad place for a short time. He’d never wanted to pry, but he thought that horrific event and the despair that followed might have brought Spock and his father closer. There’d been more communication from Sarek over the following months. Even Jim had heard from him once or twice in the weeks following the Narada attacks. At first, he’d thought it was a little odd. Until he’d figured out why. Two Vulcans? Trying to find their footing in an already strained relationship? Offering succor in their own quiet, solemn way to one another?

To borrow a phrase—it was fascinating.

At one time he’d thought of Vulcans as proud and self-serving in their habits, preferences, and aversions, their culture vastly different from his own. Now he saw that they weren’t so different, after all. Especially when it came down to people they loved and considered to be family.

_I will speak with the proper authorities at Starfleet concerning the new—_

_Wait. Hold on, Spock. I know you contacted them but—_

_—and insist that they search the area._

_—maybe we shouldn’t tell them everything, not yet._

_I am doing what is necessary. The authorities will assess the danger._

_If they’re out there, Treadway and his accomplices, and you do that, Spock, he’ll make a move._

_He cannot if he is unaware of our actions. The police will be discrete._

McCoy didn't respond, doubting, at this point, that Treadway was as inexperienced in cloak-and-dagger as they thought he was. His sheer cockiness over the situation—the hold he had over his once confident, independent ex-wife—had to have come from somewhere. He’d been a boxer, but what had happened to him in that life? Or before that life? Who did he know? What had given him the idea that he could pull one over them—Starfleet officers? Had he done something like this before? Conned a woman? Or a man? Sold his story of woe? Used him or her? Their money? Their status?

It almost seemed—too likely.

Before he allowed his thoughts to continue spiraling out of control, he shut them down. He was a doctor, not an insecure dolt who couldn’t handle the difficult situations that life handed to him. He’d been through worse—Jim’s death—his father’s death—he’d get through this.

He felt Spock’s eyes upon him, the questions bleeding over to him from the bond. He’d never been comfortable sharing his feelings. He was worse at it than Jim was. Probably worse than Spock.

The universe had a funny way of dealing with someone like him, a self-proclaimed grouchy old man. Throwing him into this situation where a touch telepath had a direct link with and could, at this point in time, know every damn thing he was thinking.

_I apologize. I will shield—_

_Shield. Can I do that yet?_

He thought he actually heard a smirk from Spock through their link, but wasn’t sure.

_You have not yet developed the skill. It will come. Soon._

_Right._

Probably in a blue moon. He had enough on his plate as it was. Sighing, he tried to put more effort into listening to Joanna, who, right at that moment, made it known that he wasn’t paying any attention to her.

“Daddy, you’re not listenin’!” she complained.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, glancing back. “What were you saying?”

“Are we gonna be able to sleep on the couch tonight, watch movies again?”

Her eyes widened with hope that something in their household could be normal for once.

“Jojo, I’m not sure it’d be best for Jim,” he answered.

“But, he likes our sleepovers,” she pleaded. “And I know new jokes. I can make him laugh.”

He’d love to hear Jim’s hearty laugh, watch that smile illuminate his handsome features—but his physician's instinct won out. “Jojo, we have company com—”

“And I can read to him from my new book later, right before bed,” she interjected.

He shook his head, thinking only of Jim’s penchant for nightmares lately. It wouldn't be good for Jojo to experience her uncle in such a state. “Not yet.”

“But he likes to,” she said again, a frustrated look on her face.

He sighed, the judgement in her tone unmistakeable. In her young mind, he was denying Jim everything he liked and they liked doing together, including coming to the bookstore. However, Jim was in no condition to maintain the same lifestyle he had before, even if his stamina was slowly improving. As hard as he would try to stay awake, to interact with Joanna the same as he always had, his weakness was inevitable. He was limited in a way that even he still had to get used to.

He saw the self-realization in Jim’s eyes every day.

“Jojo, Uncle Jim, Spock, and I have to speak with the authorities this afternoon at Nana’s house,” he decided to explain.

There really wasn’t a way around it. Even if she was in her bedroom when their visitors arrived, she would hear them. He hoped they’d arrive in unmarked cars, just in case.

“Authorities?” she echoed in a small voice.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Aren’t auth’rities…the police?”

“Yes, Jojo.”

Her breath caught. “Why, Daddy? Why are they comin’ here? Why?”

He exchanged a look with Spock. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he explained quickly. “We need to speak with them about Uncle Jim’s safety.”

“From bad guys?” she asked, her eyes widening.

He hesitated. “From things that can harm him while he's sick. You’ll be with Nana in another room.”

“But—”

“No buts, Jojo,” he said softly. “This is for grown-ups.”

She nodded, but he saw a hint of indignation in her eyes. He vaguely wondered if she’d wear the same look a year from now. Or eight years from now. When she was learning to drive, and he wasn’t there to give her pointers or take her to a vacant lot and let her practice. When she was about to date, and her mother asked her a million questions about the boy that he wasn’t there to ask her himself.

“I can be grown-up,” she said, her chin lifted.

“You’ll have your nose in a new book, anyway,” he added, redirecting her attention.

She brightened a little, nodding vigorously. “I almost forgot. The Pickle Bear! I’ll read it first—then share it with Uncle Jim,” she announced. “That way, if he gets confused I’ll know the answers to his questions. I know all about the others in the series.”

“If he’s up to it,” he reminded her gently.

Her countenance suddenly grew dismal. “Will he ever be better?” she whispered.

He inwardly sighed as he stared out the window. They’d gone over this before. Many times. There was a chance that Jim wouldn’t completely recover, but he wouldn't let himself think like that. “Yes, darlin’,” he assured her. “The medicine—”

“You mean the medicine that you made? Just for Uncle Jim?” she asked. “The ser-um? A form-u-la?” she asked brightly, accentuating the syllables as if in a song.

He whipped his head around, staring at her.

Jojo hummed, taking her new book out of the shopping bag, unaware that his heart was in his throat.

“Where,” he rasped. “Where did you hear... _that_?”

The humming stopped. Jojo froze, slowly bringing her gaze up to meet his. “I don’t know,” she said weakly.

Her guilt-ridden eyes told him differently.

“Jo,” he said in a warning tone.

She blinked, expression falling and tears springing to her eyes. “I didn't mean to listen, b-but…”

“Your mama?” he interjected.

She shook her head.

“Clay?”

She bit her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth.

“Joanna,” he warned again.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking at him through her lashes.

“Did he say anything else?” he demanded.

“I don’t—”

“Think, Jojo,” he said a little too harshly.

She blinked at him, eyes filling with tears. “N-no?”

“Did he?” he demanded.

“I d-don’t think s-so, Daddy,” she cried, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m s-s-sorry, Daddy. I knew you’d be mad. I was just trying to find m-my homework, I l-left it in Mommy’s office, and,..and I didn't m-mean to…”

“You’re not in trouble,” he assured her, softening his tone.

She gulped. “I’m not?”

“No, and I’m sorry I snapped at you, darlin’,” he apologized. “I know you wouldn’t eavesdrop on purpose. I won’t say a word to them—but you are to keep this to yourself.”

She sniffled and hugged her book close to her chest. “Is it...bad?”

It was...it was _awful_. It implied only one thing. Treadway _knew_. Whether it was from Christine, or someone else, he knew.

_In all probability, the message he sent you regarding the time was a red herring._

The Vulcan’s voice in his head chilled him to the bone. Spock was right. He had to be. The message Treadway had sent him with the time had to have been a red herring. Even Christine could be one. Both ploys to make them believe that he _almost_ knew their secrets. Making them only slightly worried, but not worried enough to up their game.

Treadway was not just a cocky athlete. He was smart. A smooth actor. A damn liar.

His heart beat rapidly, like a bird caught in his chest, as the implications of this washed over him. He took back all the negative, doubtful things he’d said about Spock contacting the authorities. They needed to up their game. Now. Just like Spock had been planning to do all along.

What if Joanna hadn’t asked him the question? They’d be sitting ducks. Doomed. The reality of Jim’s death out in the open, no doubt on a billboard or a tabloid front page.

“It’s going to have to be a secret between us and _only_ us, Jojo,” he somehow managed to clearly say.

She looked at him, terrified.

It was no wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he’d ever said anything like that to her.

“Miss Joanna,” Spock interjected.

She peeled her eyes from him to look at Spock, who was driving, but looking at her in the mirror. “Y-yes, Mister Spock?” she said, her voice quivering, but not as much as before.

Spock’s gaze intensified. “Was he speaking to someone? Your mother?”

“Not Mommy,” she whispered, hugging her book even tighter. “Maybe s-someone on his comm.”

Spock glanced sharply at him. “You must reschedule the dinner with Jocelyn for tonight.”

His heart lurched at the very idea of asking her to change her schedule again. Jocelyn had always hated it when things were moved at the last minute. He doubted that had changed any since they’d been divorced. If anything, her preference for perfection had been exacerbated. By Treadway.

“Tonight?” he asked. “This is my ex-wife that we’re talking about, Spock.”

If Spock knew anything about Jocelyn from what he'd told him before, he had to know that she didn’t like anyone, even a Starfleet officer, yanking her chain.

“It must be tonight,” Spock said. “You may inform her that I must speak with her. That is, if you ascertain that it is necessary to do so in order to gain her cooperation.”

He blinked. “Can you be ready tonight?”

 _With whatever you have up your sleeve?_ he added through the link.

“Indeed,” Spock said calmly.

For some unknown reason, he was strangely comforted by his simple response. He leaned back, surprised that they were already pulling into Nora’s driveway. He hadn't even noticed how close to home they were.

He also realized what had felt off to him since they’d left.

He couldn’t sense Jim.

He couldn’t feel him like he had since their familial bond had formed. It was as if—he was missing. That part of him they’d shared, now gone. Cold. Extinguished. Barren.

Like he’d felt when he’d realized his best friend was dead, in his sickbay, without a pulse or sign of life.

He clutched the door handle, suddenly anxious as he prepared to step out of the craft. What did this void mean? Was it because he was sleeping? Or because Jim was ill? Or had the injections caused yet another side effect of which he wasn’t aware? Or was his side of the bond faulty? Maybe he wasn’t compatible to this Vulcan voodoo, after all.

It was probably his fault, leaving him like he had. He could’ve sent Spock with Joanna. She would have done fine with him. They seemed chummy, already.

“He is fine, Leonard,” Spock murmured, stopping him. “As we all will be.”

“Fine?” McCoy echoed under his breath.

It was a vague answer from someone who was, without fail, precise.

How could any of them be fine? Jim was facing weeks upon weeks of additional torture to his physical body and mental state; he, Leonard, was entering one of the worst stages of his life, an empty one without Joanna; and Spock was trying to be the strong one, holding on to hope for the three of them. All of which was compounded by the cloud called Treadway hanging over their heads, a multitude of questions drowning them in what-ifs.

“I must speak with Jim alone, but I'll see to Joanna while you speak with him first,” Spock said, getting out of the car. “He is awake, but he does not know what you have discussed with Christine, Matthew—or me.”

Spock slipped out of the car while he pondered what he’d just said.

“Wait,” he began, confused. “Why doesn’t he know? And how do _you_ know that he doesn't know....”

His voice diminished into nothing as he realized that Spock was already climbing the front steps with Joanna, dodging raindrops.

“Right,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Spock, both figuratively and literally, was one step ahead of him.

 

oOo

 

Eleanora’s instincts about her son were usually correct. She’d been attuned to him from an early age, just as his father had, but in a different way. Though his communication had lessened over the past several years while in space, he always did his best to show her he loved her. She’d never doubted it for one minute. She was a lucky woman even if her daughter, Donna, was more of a stranger these days. It hurt to speak of her and the distance growing between them. So she didn’t. Neither did Leonard.

When Leonard, Spock, and Joanna returned home from The Book Heart, she knew from the look on her son’s face that something was wrong. Granted, she also knew from Spock’s face that something was amiss.

Of course, Joanna’s expression had told her first, before Leonard had even stepped inside. The child’s tear-stained cheeks revealed tales of sadness or fright, whether or not Joanna wanted them to.

“Did you get your book, sweetheart?” she asked Joanna, smiling when she saw the bag in her hand.

“Yes, Nana,” Joanna said glumly, eyes down as she walked past, her legs dragging behind her.

“What’s troubling you, child?” she queried softly.

When Joanna didn’t answer, she glanced sideways at Mister Spock. Leonard’s absence was odd, but she assumed he was still in the hovercraft. Perhaps giving himself a moment alone before the afternoon began and he had to speak with the police.

Spock’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “We—”

“I miss Mommy and Daddy together,” Joanna said suddenly at the same time, turning around. She sniffed, her shoulders sagging. “Happy...like...like friends.”

Spock remained quiet, clasping his hands behind his back as she went on.

Her heart warmed that he had allowed Joanna to speak, not reprimanding her for interrupting.

“Oh, I see,” Nora said.

“It's just not fair!” Joanna wailed and dropped her bag in defeat.

She walked towards her granddaughter. She missed the more amicable relationship between her ex-daughter-in-law and son, too. Not that she hoped for them to reconcile. Jim was the perfect match for her son. But at one time, Leonard and Jocelyn had been able to speak to each other while in the same room without sending the other murderous looks. Yes, even Leonard was guilty of lacking his Southern charm at times, though Jocelyn certainly knew how to push his buttons, too. They needed to see just how much they each cared for Joanna and work together for her good, instead of as enemies, their daughter a common goal instead of the source of their tension.

“They never talk. They...they argue!” Joanna cried. “Like...like Katie and Millie in my class at school!”

From the mouths of babes. She looked tenderly at her granddaughter. “Did your father speak with your mother while you were gone?”

“No,” Joanna said, sniffling.

Eleanora frowned at Spock, not understanding.

“I will explain later,” Spock said softly.

She glanced back down at Joanna, who was listening intently despite her long face. “It won’t be like this forever,” she said, drawing the weepy child into her arms. “They have things to work out between them.”

“Things like me?” Joanna asked, dejectedly.

Her heart ached for the pain she was feeling. “Oh, my dear, don’t you know? They both love you very much,” she assured her, kissing the top of her head.

“I just want—want—Oh, Nana!” Joanna curled herself into her arms, sobbing once before falling silent.

She stroked her head, thinking of Leonard when he was a child and how she’d done the same for him whenever he’d been troubled. Held him. Stroked his head. Reassured him of her love for him.

The years might not have been easy on her family, but they’d given her a granddaughter who felt deeply, just like her father. And, just like her father, she was sure she’d make her mark on this world.

“Why don't you go into the kitchen and have some milk and cookies?” she urged. “It will be just the thing you need, sweetheart.”

“But I didn’t eat lunch yet,” Joanna said, peering up at her confusedly.

“Sometimes, you just need to eat dessert first,” she said lightly. “It will help you feel better, I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you, Nana,” Joanna whispered.

She squeezed her one more time, before letting go. Joanna then headed for the kitchen with her book, her extension already lighter.

Eleanora hugged herself, watching her granddaughter every step of the way.

“What happened?” she murmured to Spock before Joanna was out of earshot.

“A matter of urgency,” he said simply.

“Oh, dear,” she breathed. “Does it concern Mister Treadway?”

“It does,” Spock affirmed. “I do not intend to create an inconvenience for you, Mrs. McCoy, but it is imperative that I speak with Jocelyn tonight.”

She instantly worried this was the reason for her son’s absence. “Is this why Leonard has not come inside?”

Spock hesitated, walking with her towards the living room, a more private area where little pitchers could not hear. “Possibly.”

“It’s not an inconvenience if it would help my son,” she said honestly. “I’ll do whatever it takes, even move up a dinner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McCoy,” Spock said, acknowledging her support with a nod. “While Leonard speaks with Jim, I shall be in the kitchen with Joanna while she partakes of her snack.”

She smiled. “I believe she has you wrapped around her finger, Commander Spock, just like she has every other Starfleet officer in this house.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “She is delightful.”

“She keeps me on my toes,” a voice behind them muttered. “Books we have to have delivered, new friends, and now Spock will no doubt team up with Jim against me, in favor of a sleepover.”

She turned and shook her head at her son. Water dripped onto the door from his umbrella, forming a puddle on her clean floor.

But she ignored it for now. She had bigger fish to fry. “Leonard,” she said as Spock left for the kitchen. “Let me take that for you.”

“Mama, I got it,” Leonard said, hiding the umbrella behind him.

She tsked. “Don’t be stubborn. You’re getting yourself all wet.”

He sighed and handed it to her.

“Well, come on in,” she urged, worrying more when he just stood there with a dark scowl on his face. “Don’t let the cool air inside.”

“Cool?” he echoed, his expression one of confusion. “It’s warm out there, Mama.”

“It’s cool to Jim,” she said firmly. “He’s at your desk, wearing a sweater I found in your closet. He’s swimming in it, but he’s warm.”

Leonard closed the door, grim-faced as he glanced up the staircase. “I need to see Jim, but the dinner—”

“Is tonight,” she finished for him.

He winced. “Sorry for the last minute change….”

She shook her head. “It’s not a bother, Leonard. Spock already apologized for the abrupt time change. I have several recipes for quick, but impressive, dinners up my sleeve.” She smiled. “Including one of your favorites, mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“Mmm,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “That sounds good. And your meals are always impressive. Thank you.”

“He found your PADD,” she said, before he’d gotten to the first step. Jim’s puppy-dog eyes had been wide, brilliant blue, and almost enough to convince her not to tell on him. Yet she wanted to give her son a fair warning. “Or, rather, his PADD that you hid.”

He stopped and slowly turned on his heel. “You mean to tell me—”

“That he’s occupying himself with charts of the Enterprise’s reconstruction that Mister Scott sent him?”

Leonard clenched his jaw.

“Go easy on him, Leonard,” she said softly.

His eyes hardened. “He knows he’s on mandatory medical leave.”

“He just isn’t following the rules today. One day.”

“One day,” he muttered darkly. “One day of stress matters, Mama.” He paused, his hand on the railing. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’m shocked that it hasn't happened earlier than this. He just can’t help but bend the rules. It’s in his nature, Mama, but he’s off duty for a good reason.”

“He has to be feeling like a fish out of water. Can you blame him?”

Leonard stared at her, his expression growing completely blank.

The sudden shift worried her. He rarely ever reacted like this. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever responded in such a manner, mostly when he was recovering from or steeling himself from feeling a great loss. His father’s death. The divorce with Jocelyn.

She had first seen this reaction when Joanna had been a baby. She’d grown seriously ill from an infectious disease a negligent nurse had brought back with her from space, when she’d been at the hospital for a checkup on a heart murmur. Joanna had lived, with only a small cost to her growth, which had evened out by the time she had turned two years old. It had been a small price to pay, considering how terrifyingly ill she had been for days, her survival a toss-up.”

A frightening time. She’d lost sleep, more than anyone would ever know.

She couldn’t help but think that was why her strong of mind, strong of body, son hated space. He went for Jim—and only Jim. That much was clear.

And now...make no mistake. Her son was head over heels in love with Jim, if his reaction to his captain's activities was any indication.

“This has been hard on all of us,” he said in a monotone voice which sent a chill down her spine.

She wouldn’t let it deter her. She went to him and pulled him into an embrace, as if he was Joanna’s age, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her in turn, though it lacked the warmth she was used to from him.

“I'm not saying it hasn't,” she gently chided him.

His arms tightened around her. “I can’t, Mama,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

“Be strong?” she asked. “You already are.”

“Go up and see Jim,” he whispered, a dry laugh following.

She murmured. “You don’t have to. Spock is here, isn’t he?”

“He has even more to do than I do,” Leonard said hoarsely.

“He came here for a reason,” she said firmly. “To help, not to sit around.”

“He stepped right into a mess he never expected,” he argued, pulling away.

She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek to stop him from shrinking back into the shell that his pride was creating. “James trusts him, yes?”

He frowned, as if her question was absurd. “Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?” she asked simply. “Where is the same confidence that you’ve had in these men all along? Have you or haven’t you spent weeks and months together in space?”

He gave her a tense smile. Her words may have hit their mark, but he wasn’t taking them to heart like she wanted. “You always know the exact words to say to pull me out of my pity party.”

“If you need some time away to cool off, James won’t judge you for it,” she said softly, attempting to assuage his fears one more time.

“I can’t leave him—” He blinked, pulling away from her sharply only to sink down on the bottom of the stairs. He put his head in his hands. “Mama,” he said brokenly, “I can’t leave him.”

She sat down beside him. “You’re not leaving him,” she said. “But if you go up there as tense as you are now, with the intent to take him down a notch or two, to scold him for behaving like you knew he would someday, then it’s best to give yourself time to cool off.”

“I’ll send Spock up,” he said with a sigh, lifting his head.

“A bit of time won’t hurt. You have nearly two hours before the police arrive.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“I can’t begin to understand all that you’ve been through, Leonard, but I will be here to help when I can,” she promised.

“You understand more than most, Mama,” he said quietly. “Loving someone more than yourself, more than anything, but incapable of making things right for him, no matter what you do.”

“You persevere, Leonard,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You follow James’s example, Spock’s, your daughter’s, and press on.”

“Thank you, Mama.” His face was still solemn, but he kissed her on the cheek before heading for the kitchen just like his daughter had moments ago.

She prayed as she never had before that these boys of hers would come out on the other side changed men, ones who understood how strong their love for each other was.

It would be enough to change Jocelyn’s heart, should she be given the opportunity to see it.

Of that, she was certain.

 

oOo

 

 

Spock did not say so, but he was relieved to discover that he would be the first one to speak with Jim. Not only did it give Leonard the opportunity to contact Jocelyn as soon as possible, on whom his next step depended, but it guaranteed answers to the questions he’d formed since realizing Jim was shielding.

He took his time up the stairs and, once outside Leonard’s bedroom door, politely knocked, giving Jim time to hide the evidence that he had ‘broken the rules.’

He, too, like the doctor, had not been pleased to learn that Jim had ignored his medical restrictions. In fact, he intended to speak his mind, as it had negatively affected Leonard, his mood obviously souring, and Jim’s unsanctioned activities adding undue stress.

He was concerned for Jim’s mental well-being as they anticipated their meeting with the police. He was equally concerned for Leonard, who had shouldered more than Jim might have realized.

“Come in,” Jim said.

Spock pushed open the door, which was an antique, as were the other doors on the second floor. The appearance was appealing to the eye and, in this case, only added to the charm of Mrs. McCoy’s house.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it. He must speak with Jim about matters of grave importance. Matters which were...inherently criminal. He could not risk anyone overhearing their conversation, even accidentally.

Jim was sitting at the desk in the corner. Upon his entrance into the room, Jim pressed a button, darkening the screen of the PADD that was in front of him on the desk. He swiveled in the chair, brows raised as he first looked at the doorknob and then at him. He blinked twice before schooling his features. “Mister Spock,” he said evenly.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and walked towards him, easily picturing them on the bridge.

“What can I do for you?” Jim asked, crossing his arms.

Spock stood beside his chair and stared down with a lifted brow. “How did you obtain the device?”

“That is my business, Spock,” Jim said evenly.

“I ask on behalf of your attending physician.”

“Then I will wait for him to ask, if you don’t mind.”

“He is unavailable at this time,” Spock asserted.

“Well, then, it will have to wait.”

“I disagree. Why did you disobey his orders, which were intended to aid in your swift rehabilitation?”

“I needed something to do,” Jim said testily.

Spock quirked a brow. “I have become aware that you have successfully hindered the link between us. I require an explanation as to how you have accomplished this?” he countered.

There was a pause, a flash of fear crossing Jim’s face.

Spock did not understand why Jim was apprehensive, apprehensive about answering his question. Jim’s reaction revealed that he was concealing something.

“You could not have learned to block this bond on your own, Jim,” Spock ascertained. “Not in the brief time since the familial bond has formed.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Jim said, waving a hand in dismissal.

The gesture, although familiar, was irksome, further proving his theory that Jim was hiding something of value that he would disapprove of.

“It is not a matter of being a prized student,” he challenged him, cocking a brow. “But of being taught.”

Jim leaned back in his chair, swallowing. “Well, then. I guess that I’m...just lucky.”

Spock could not deny the irritation he felt that his friend—his captain—was doing all that he could to stall the inevitable.

He would find out.

He locked eyes with Jim. “If you value our friendship—and the emotional health of Leonard, whom you love—”

“That’s blackmail, Spock,” Jim interrupted, throwing him a sharp look.

He ignored it. “—you will explain to me how you have been capable of blocking all that has transpired since we arrived at the bookstore.”

Jim firmly clenched his jaw. “No.”

Vulcans were not given to sighing, or to trivial annoyances, but Spock could not help but deflate in irritation. “You are hiding something.”

“I am not,” Jim said, frowning.

“Then speak your mind. Explain—”

“No,” he interjected harshly. “It’s nothing. Don't worry about it. I just know, okay?”

“Jim…”

“No,” he said, setting his jaw. “I’m sorry, but you’re making this more important than it is.”

Spock inhaled a slow breath. As easily as he pictured them on the bridge, he pictured them on the Enterprise before the Narada attacks. Jim, an inexperienced, young captain challenging Spock in everything, even when he was wrong, defiantly refusing to accept the facts. Later, their working relationship had grown from amicable professionalism into real friendship. Of course, there continued to be occasions where he had been wrong and Jim correct. In either case, they would treat one another with the respect they each deserved. In the beginning, that had not always been the case.

He feared that this particular argument was resembling an argument between ignorant youths, bent on keeping unnecessary secrets, despite the escalating hurt and confusion that they inflicted upon the other.

“I must object,” Spock said, approaching their disagreement in a different way. “Leonard has sensed your disconnect. It has confused him.”

Jim stood, grabbing the PADD and holding at on his side. “Then explain to him what I just told you. I’m lucky.”

“Luck has no merit here.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “It does for me. I could tell you many times—”

“While it would be acceptable at a different time,” he interjected, his voice raising while Jim continued speaking, also.

“—when luck has had its merit.”

“—since we arrived at the bookstore, we have discovered our situation—”

“—like when Bones smuggled me on the Enterprise—”

“—to be more precarious than we had first thought.”

Jim froze. “More precarious? What do you mean?”

“I believe you must apologize to Leonard for reading and responding to the messages from Mister Scott,” he relied calmly.

Jim let out a strangled sigh. “That’s not the...what I…what I _meant_.”

Spock nodded. “Indeed. I understand to which action you referred, but I cannot speak of it.”

“You cannot speak of it,” Jim echoed.

“No.”

“Why?” Jim said indignantly.

“If you cannot reveal the cause for your secretism, than I cannot reveal to you the nature of the information we obtained.”

Jim inclined his head towards the door. “I could walk through this door right now and, eventually, learn of it myself. If it’s that important, I’m sure you’ll be speaking to the police about it, too.”

“I have enough information, Captain, to accomplish my goal without your involvement.” He paused, wanting to ensure that Jim fully understood what he was insinuating. “Your complete involvement.”

Jim blinked. “What?”

“I could also inform Doctor McCoy of your stubbornness in this matter, the negative effect your continued secretism could have on your mental health, as it pertains to our telepathic bond. He has the authority—”

Jim inhaled sharply. “Dammit, Spock,” he began, his voice oddly filling with panic.

His heart constricted with apprehension. What was the reason behind the shielding that was distressing Jim?

“Spock, please,” Jim rushed to say. “Just, let it _go_ —”

He shook his head. “—to ‘pull rank’ and prevent your involvement in all matters by admitting you to Starfleet General for the remainder of your recovery.”

Jim’s face leeched of color. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“If it is in your best interest, Jim,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “I will follow through with my threat.”

“I have to be here to help Bones,” he pleaded.

“He is not alone.”

“He needs me,” Jim said through clenched teeth. “You don’t...understand.”

“How do you know I will not understand if you fail to first explain?”

Jim closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his temple. “Because I know you, Spock. You won’t be able to just let this go.”

It came to him with sudden clarity.

He fought the staggering truth.

“I have been questioning _what_ has given you this ability,” he said, now pacing, his heart beating erratically in his side, “When, all along, it has been _who_.”

He looked back at Jim over his shoulder with a wariness he could barely contain.

The Captain’s eyes flickered with fear. Dread. Perhaps even resentment.

In that exact moment, the same mixture of emotions washed over him in powerful waves, emotions he believed to be leaking from Jim’s side of the bond. He staggered back, utilizing his own shields to deflect them.

The Captain suddenly hunched as if trying to physically detach himself from their link, as well, and clenched his eyes shut. He could not shield as well as he once had. It did not surprise him. He had sensed from the beginning that Jim was using all the limited strength and energy he had to sit at the desk and work. To shield. To suppress unbidden emotion.

He braced himself against the wall, the resentment he continued to feel from Jim confusing and alarming.

He had not hurt him. Or had he? When? Why? He held his breath and attempted to probe his way through the onslaught of emotion. It was difficult, like encountering a jungle of a millions vines, endlessly slicing at them, only to watch their hacked parts grow back. There was no pattern, no logic to the mixture.

“Don’t,” Jim whispered, looking up at him through his lashes.

The single word echoed as a plea.

It was Jim laid bare and vulnerable.

It was Jim, grieving for the dishonesty he had committed towards his friends but unwilling to share the cause behind it.

His angered stirred, but he stopped his probing. Who had taken advantage of Jim, perhaps when he had been in a vulnerable state? Who had taught him their secrets, melded with him? Who had not considered the destruction it would impart? The lasting effects Jim felt today?

_What had gone wrong?_

He straightened, filled with an indescribable fury, unwilling to listen to Jim’s continued pleading. With two steps, he loomed over his captain, staring down at him with narrowed eyes.

“You _will_ tell me,” he said harshly, now certain that someone else—more specifically, a Vulcan—had shown him their ways. Jim was protecting him for fear that Spock would unleash judgement upon them both. A reasonable fear, as he could not deny he was already forming judgements. “Or, you, per Doctor McCoy’s discretion as well as my own, will no longer be involved with the investigation of Treadway nor be informed of the status of the McCoys’ ongoing custody battle of Joanna.”

Jim’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Spock, you can’t do that.”

“I am fully capable of formulating and executing this...stipulation,” he spat.

A sound similar to a wheeze escaped Jim’s throat. “But...you can’t.”

“You should not test me, Captain,” he said, jaw firming.

“I—”

“Will you tell me?”

Jim shook his head, expression pinched. “No,” he whispered.

Spock straightened his spine. He lifted his chin as he stared down at him. “Very well,” he said, allowing his disappointment concerning his continued secrecy to bleed through his speech. “I will inform Doctor McCoy of this decision and insist that changes be made.”

A bead of sweat appeared on Jim’s forehead, his hands shaking as they curled around his PADD. He held the device against his chest, like a shield, using it as armor to deflect Spock’s intrusive questions. “You’re...you’re serious?”

“You believed my intentions to be otherwise?”

“Well, I...I—”

“When it comes to matters of New Vulcan and their inhabitants and ways—and your safety,” he said harshly, “I am completely serious, Captain.”

He paused, giving Jim a moment to reply, change his mind, or plead his case another time. Jim did not respond at all, save for the increasing shortness of breath, his wheezing more and more audible.

“Jim?” he said softly.

But Jim merely continued to stare at Spock, his eyes wide open with shock.

Indeed, he had not anticipated that it would come to this, either.

“Doctor McCoy will return to inform you of our decision,” he said swiftly, wanting to speak with Leonard as soon as possible because Jim was in physical distress. “I will speak to the police—alone.”

Jim’s eyes filled with pain, the hurt unmistakeable.

But he could not relent.

“Please, just...trust me,” Jim begged.

“In this, I cannot,” he said in a fierce whisper.

If only Jim could understand.

Jim’s face crumpled, their link fraying with the weight of each other’s pain. How much more until the strain would break it?

Disconcerted that his relationship with Jim had reached a point of uncertainty and would only worsen, with a possibility of disintegrating, and distressed by what he saw in Jim’s expression, he turned away.

Yet, he did not doubt that he had made the best decision. He now understood, at the very least, that Jim had been used erroneously in the past by one of Spock’s own race, and this was how he had learned to utilize his shields in the bond.

Jim. Hurt. By a Vulcan.

It indicated one other thing.

Someone had forced or somehow persuaded Jim to meld with them—and it had failed.

Mind rape, at worst.

A failed meld, worse still.

Both criminal.

Both thoughtless.

_Sickening._

_Shameful._

He could not overlook it.

He could not push aside the guilt consuming him, though _he_ had not committed this deplorable, unforgivable crime.

_Never again._

He closed in eyes in utter shame. How could Jim even look at him? How was he not repulsed? His actions had been thoughtless and careless, a degradation to his character.

_His fault._

Why did Jim feel this resentment towards him?

He had not harmed a single hair on Jim’s head.

He had not pressed his fingers to Jim’s face.

He had not revealed his past to him.

He was nearly to the door when the link between them strengthened, glimpses of Jim’s past slipping through it. Jim’s vulnerability burgeoning with every image.

Jim, not sleeping, the weeks of insomnia aggravating his sadness and guilt.

Lying to his friends when all he wanted to do was scream relentlessly at them that he was holding himself together by a mere thread, one breath from falling apart.

Mourning for the billions who had perished in the destruction of Vulcan, hearing their voices echo hauntingly in his mind on the bridge, in his bed, in the dark of night.

Debilitated in sickbay with migraines that _he_ had caused.

Lying repeatedly to his best friend.

Lying to cover up those lies.

Lying to remain on the bridge—in command—at all costs.

Weakened and losing himself in this madness by the hour.

Guilt-ridden for the confusion he was causing Bones. Spock. Nyota. Scotty. Chekov. Pike. _Everyone_.

Desperate to keep it hidden.

Desperate to want that other life he saw, a father he'd actually known.

This fresh, burning submission he had to— _being Vulcan._

_Lying._

_Hiding._

_Ashamed._

_Guilt._

_Alone._

_His fault._

_Resentment._

_Fear._

_Sadness._

It did not make sense.

His revulsion consumed him—

But he had not.

He had NOT.

He reached for the lock, angry and ashamed—

“Delta V-Vega,” Jim said shakily. The shattered voice shook him to the core. “It happened...wh-when you marooned me on...Delta Vega.”

—and did not turn it.

 

oOo

 

While Joanna and her grandmother talked up a storm in the kitchen, about anything from books to the new kid on the block, McCoy paced the living room. He held his comm up to his ear, waiting for Jocelyn’s reply.

He wouldn’t hold his breath that she would agree to come today. She’d already let him know his call had been an inconvenience, taking her away from an important meeting.

One would that think he was asking for the world on a platter.

“Len, you’ve never—” She broke off with a huff.

“I’ve never _what_?”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, laughing nervously.

“What’s gotten into me?” he repeated, not following her.

“You’re so concerned about this visit, basically moving up the time that you’re giving up Joanna.”

He grew quiet. He hadn’t thought about it that way.

“After this, after I fulfill my end of the bargain, she’s mine.”

He could have broken down then and there. Dammit, what had gotten into him? It was just as she said. Jocelyn would come for a dinner, and Joanna would be removed from his life.

He prayed that Joanna would never find out about this mess. “Just be here, Joce,” he said sharply.

“I’m not sure why this is so important. We’ve had dinner together before, Len,” she claimed.

“Spock wishes to speak with you.”

“Let me guess. He wants to try and convince me to change my mind,” she said in monotone.

Leonard said nothing. _He_ wasn’t sure what Spock would say to her.

She sighed. “It won’t work. I’ve dealt with Vulcans before. He can’t intimidate me.”

“We’re not trying to intimidate you,” McCoy said, attempting to appease her. “I'm trying to enjoy a normal—”

“Normal?” she asked incredulously.

He rolled his eyes. Of course it wasn’t normal. He was just making a point. “Yes. Normal. A normal dinner for Jojo’s sake.”

She paused. He imagined her sharpening her nails, her even sharper teeth. “Will Jim be there?”

He wouldn’t do this without him. “Yes,” he said.

“Joy,” she said sarcastically. “What will you do while we have tea and crumpets? Stare into each other’s eyes?”

“Play nice, Joce,” he gritted out.

“Same goes for you.”

She hung up on him.

 

oOo

 

Jim was used to telling himself that he didn't resent Selek for melding with him as he had. Which had been hurriedly. Thoughtlessly. Selek hadn't warned him of its effects until _after_ he’d completed the meld. The fact was—he did resent him. Just a little. He also used to tell himself that he kept this secret for the sake of both his friends and Selek.

For the most part, that was true. But there was more to it than that. He’d kept his secret for _himself_.

He hated shrinks. He had no doubt that he would have been forced to see one if he’d told Bones what had happened. Maybe have another Vulcan invade his mind to fix it. A healer. Who knew what the shrink and healer could have uncovered?

With his luck—everything about himself that he wanted to remain a secret.

It hadn’t been just the meld on Delta Vega at stake. It had been every damn part of his life—including his conditioning from Tarsus, long-lasting insecurities thanks to Frank, his mother and brother, and envy over the _other_ him.

He’d never wanted Spock to know what Selek had done. He never wanted Bones to find out, either. It was the last thing that Bones needed right now, on top of everything else.

Spock had understood the latter almost immediately. It was why he’d pushed Jim and forced him to reveal his secret.

He almost couldn’t believe it. Spock had _blackmailed_ him.

The draw of his own anger was too great and exactly what he needed to fight back. Especially since Spock hadn’t even turned around from the door to face him.

“Selek?” Spock asked, his voice cracking on the second syllable.

Jim glared at his back. Of course it had been him. “It’s not his fault.”

“You do not understand that it can be _nothing_ but his fault.” Spock turned and, without looking at him, sank to a seat on the side on the bed. His back to him, of course.

“He...he was compromised, just like you.”

“His compromised state cannot be used as an excuse.” Spock turned his head. Still, all Jim could see was his profile. “Did my compromised state exonerate my actions on the bridge, when I strangled you?”

Jim swallowed. “It made it understandable.”

Spock snarled. “You were attacked. You were manipulated.” He paused for a sharp breath. Jim was taken aback by his vehemence. “And then...by _him_.”

“Whoa, hold on, Spock,” Jim said, lifting his hands in surrender. “You’re the one who attacked me. Selek never—”

“Did he ask if he could meld with you?” Spock fired out.

“Well.” Jim stopped, having to think. “No—”

“Did he give you time to consider the meld?”

Jim couldn’t help but feel flustered. “No, not exactly. But we didn’t have ti—”

Spock stood and spun around, his glare cutting through him. “Did he explain to you what would happen as a result?”

“You mean the emotional transference?” Jim almost stammered.

Spock narrowed his eyes. “He did not tell you soon enough.”

“We didn’t have time,” Jim protested on Selek’s behalf. “We had to find the outpost—”

“That is when you walked. After the hengraggi.”

He cringed with each question. He’d rather not relive these memories on top of everything else.

Spock stepped closer to him. “You walked,” he repeated slowly as if he were a child.

“Well,” Jim said, furrowing his brow. Wasn’t that obvious? “Yeah. We had to.”

“He could have explained then,” Spock insisted.

Jim swallowed. “It was...c-cold.”

He hugged himself, tightly. He shivered, remembering, and looked down at the floor.

Selek had been freezing on Delta Vega. The old Vulcan had not complained, but Jim had seen it in his eyes. He’d felt it from him through the rawness of the new meld. The bitter cold penetrating the marrow of his bones, causing every muscle and bone to ache.

He reached over and pulled another blanket from the bed, wrapping it around him.

God. Delta Vega. Jim rocked back and forth. Like he had when he had been little and his Sehlat had gone missing—

“Jim.”

Jim blinked himself from his daze and stared up at him. “What?”

“I have been calling your name,” Spock said, his eyes uncertain.

He stopped rocking. “Oh.”

“You still feel these effects,” Spock whispered. “But much time has passed.”

Effects? Spock made it sound so critical, when, in reality, the unpredictability of it all was a constant threat. Not to mention embarrassing.

Like now.

He palmed his forehead. “God, Spock. Forget you saw that. I…”

“You have nothing of which to be ashamed.”

He laughed dryly. “Yeah.”

“Yet, I expect the truth. Please do not lie to me,” Spock said, his expression hardening again. “We are beyond childish games, Captain.”

“You’re the one who blackmailed me,” he pointed out.

“A necessity. for I believed it would be detrimental to your health to allow you to continue in this fashion.” Spock paused and lifted his chin. “It appears, Captain, that I was correct. Please answer the question.”

Jim wished he could die instead of being tortured by the memories of his counterpart inside his mind. “Yes, I do feel effects,” he admitted hoarsely. “Sometimes.”

“Explain,” Spock commanded.

“We don't have time for this,” Jim countered, frowning.

“When,” Spock insisted.

Most of them centered around his father. Or, the other him’s father. “Can’t we discuss this later? What happen—”

“When,” Spock said again.

Jim huffed. “Whenever my daddy issues spring up,” he said flippantly. “You know. On my birthday. Holidays.” He paused. “Other things...are random.”

Spock stared at him. “If he had taken the time, you would not be experiencing these effects.”

“You know what they all say,” Jim joked. “Emotional transference is a bitch.”

An unwelcome silence hit the room.

“You should not take this lightly,” Spock said finally, his eyes hard. “None of us should. On Vulcan, this act is considered to be a criminal offense.”

That was another threat, loud and clear.

“Wait.” Jim paled. “You're not going to tell Bones?”

“I will not discuss this with him today or tomorrow,” Spock said, “but I will inform the doctor. It must be done, Captain. I cannot keep your secret, for the damage that was inflicted upon you—is abhorrent.”

Jim’s shoulders dropped. “Let me do it,” he rasped. “It’s the least you can do since you forced it out of me like an interrogator.”

That came out more bitter than he’d liked.

Spock looked like he’d eaten a rodent whole.

He groaned, his head dropping into his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I did not intend...to acquire your hatred,” Spock said stiffly.

“I know what you intended,” Jim whispered, giving a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it sucked. Yeah, I sort of dislike you right now because of it. No, I don’t hate you.”

Spock hesitated. “Even if it is the case, and I am less in your eyes—”

“You aren’t _less_ ,” Jim insisted with a frustrated sigh.

“—I must fulfill my part of the agreement.”

Jim lifted his head, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation. “You mean, telling me what happened while you were gone?”

“Yes. Joanna overheard Treadway discussing the serum over a call.”

Jim drew in a shaking breath. “That means he knows.”

Spock gave a short nod. “Jocelyn will come tonight.”

It was their last chance. “And Bones?” he asked quietly. “How is he?”

Bones was probably close to having an aneurism.

“He is…” Spock’s voice diminished. He frowned at Jim.

“He's not handling it very well, I take it,” Jim finished for him.

Spock came closer, hesitating.

Jim quirked a brow. “What?”

“I can adjust...your level of discomfort.”

He threw him a wary look. “You mean...meld with me? That’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? Weren’t we just arguing about the other you doing that to me?”

“This is different,” Spock said haltingly.

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Spock said. “ _I_ am warning you in advance.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Please, Jim,” Spock said, quietly stepping beside him.

“Okay,” he said, simultaneously doubting his own sanity for agreeing to this. “I don’t really feel like being an ice—”

Spock pressed his fingers gently to his face, stopping him mid-sentence. Jim closed his eyes, the memory of the bitterly cold planet disappearing in seconds.

Warmth returned to his chest.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Is that acceptable, Jim?”

He breathed out slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Jim?” Bones voice called from outside the room as the door rattled. “Spock? Is everything alright in there?”

Spock stepped away.

“We’re fine,” Jim called out in a raspy voice.

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones said, voice muffled at the door. “Your voice…”

Spock unlocked the door.

Bones nearly fell in. He scowled at Spock. “Warn a guy—”

Spock ignored him and strode out the door without a greeting.

“That’s just typical,” Bones muttered.

Jim uncurled his fingers from the blanket and threw it back on the bed in an effort to look normal. Like he hadn’t just been sitting in snow, freezing his ass off, like a Vulcan who’d melded with him when he’d been unstable. Like Spock hadn’t just fixed it for him.

“What’s his problem?” Bones asked, flipping his head around to stare after Spock as he headed down the hall.

“Nothing,” Jim whispered.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me,” Bones drawled, coming to stand in front of him.

He put his hands on his hips and stared down at Jim.

Jim couldn’t find his voice.

He had enough guilt for a lifetime.

“You all right?” Bones asked, cocking his head. “Other than being a little cold? Losing your voice again?”

“I’m fine,” he said, voice thin. “Not cold now.”

“Well, you’re not fine,” Bones said, waving a hand at him. “But I’ll humor you and ignore that while I look in the closet for something for you to wear.”

“Wear?” Jim wasn’t sure this was the most critical thing to do at the moment, but it seemed to be giving Bones a goal. Something different to think about. He’d go along with it, for him.

“For when you talk with the police,” Bones muttered, opening the closet doors. “And have dinner. You think a tux would be overdoing it?”

He turned around, holding up a tuxedo by the hanger.

Jim gave him a small smile. “Not sure I could handle a bow tie,” he croaked.

“You and me both, kid,” Bones said with a snort. He put the tux back in the closet and rummaged more.

Jim sighed and made his way to the bed. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, planning to just sit there and wait.

Of course, his plan never took off. He was lying on his side with his eyes closed before Bones held up anything else.

“Another nap?” Bones asked.

“Just a...few...” he murmured, sighing. “Minutes….”

He wondered if he could have days.

He was tired. So...tired.

It was...odd.

He thought…

_Spock?_

_Sleep, Jim._

“All right, Jim,” Bones said in a soft voice. “You can try on clothes in a bit.”

“Bones?”

He felt as small as his voice. Smaller, even. Maybe the smallest he had felt in a long, long time.

Guilt had a way of doing that to you. Knowing you couldn’t really help the man you loved keep his daughter did, too.

He opened his eyes, catching Bones looking down at him.

Bones’s eyes were gentle.

Jim smiled to himself. The tender, bedside manner looked good on him. It was warm. _Domestic_.

“Yeah,” Bones said thickly.

He waited until Bones was concerned enough about his silence to join him on the bed.

“Hold me for just a minute?” he whispered.

Bones was already spooning him from behind.

“Darlin’, I’ve got nothing better to do than this,” he murmured in Jim’s ear. “Nothin’ more  
important than being right here with you.”

Jim doubted that. He could name a few things that were more important than him. The police. Jocelyn. Jojo.

He didn’t remind him, though. Instead, he curled into the body behind him, stroking the arm that had wrapped around his waist, and threaded his fingers through Bones’s.

His own silence ate him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated! ;)
> 
> Note: Donna is listed as being McCoy's sister on the memory-beta site (as well as a few other siblings). I'm including only Donna in this fic.


	15. I'm not broken (I’m a wide open highway with room to run)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a much earlier update than I'd expected. Thanks to Nanowrimo! :) I'd say enjoy the read, but we're headed for some angsty territory with this one...

 

When Jim awakened alone, with an aching, scratchy throat and a runny nose, he knew he was in for it.

He coughed into the stillness of the room to try to clear the phlegm from his throat, disturbed that a cold had seemingly come out of nowhere. A cold. A fucking _cold_. For anyone else, it was an illness that could be cured with a simple hypo. For him, it was an illness that could set him back again because, until his drug therapy was behind him, his body simply wouldn't respond to medication as it had before.

What was he? A germ magnet these days? Trouble magnet? Bones might never let him out of this room. The house. His ship. _Ever_.

Miserable, he turned onto his side. He might have to forgo speaking with the officers, after all. The dinner, too. Was it even possible for him to do anything without succumbing to fatigue or an illness? Was this Treadway’s fault? Or had it been his own, a result of going out on the porch while it had been still raining?

Why couldn't he just get the damn treatments over with so his immune system returned to normal? What if Bones blamed himself? What if he didn't get over this? And it developed into something worse?

What if Bones sent him straight back into the hospital? He’d be there for weeks. He could just see it. Stuck in a biobed, an endless amount of machinery around him in an otherwise stark and empty room.

A low throb began behind his eyes at the end of his silent rant. He groaned with frustration into his pillow. None of this was helping anything. Neither was his pity party. He had to get moving whether he liked it or not.

He unfurled his body from its cocoon, but that was as far as he got.

He hated the thought of getting up. In fact, he loathed it. At least here he was comfortable and warm. He huffed and lay limply on his bed for a moment, the blanket now bunched up at his hip, exposing his bare feet. Besides the sore throat and runny nose, his muscles also ached, signaling without a doubt that he’d come down with something.

Bones was not going to be happy.

Dammit, _he_ wasn't happy. Maybe this was why he'd been so cold earlier. Maybe it hadn't been that stupid memory of Delta Vega, after all, but this cold. It would explain why he’d lost his voice. Had those chills.

He heaved himself upright and slumped to a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning over as he got his bearings. Could he fake that he was feeling better than he really was? He’d managed to do that before, pre-dying days, of course. Maybe he could do it again. It wasn’t that hard. He’d somehow deflect Bones’s physician’s eye, delay his inevitable magic wand, otherwise known as the tricorder, which caught all of his lies. All lies, of course, except for the one called ‘meld-gone-wrong’ that he had never told Bones about.

Feeling like the worst friend, one who didn’t measure up anymore, he dragged himself out of bed and stood. He ran both hands through his hair, smoothing the bedhead that he knew was there without looking, all while trying to figure out how to approach Bones with this, or if he would at all.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t miss the dinner. Couldn’t allow Bones to face Jocelyn without him. He wanted to be there to protect Bones if Jocelyn had her claws out.

Yet, if he had a cold, and Bones discovered that he did, there was no way that he would allow him to be present at dinner. More importantly, though, if he knew, then he could treat him and stop the cold from worsening.

No. He had to face the music. He had to tell Bones.

Chagrined that his captainly duties had been reduced to these pathetic decisions about his health, he turned around to look at where he’d been sleeping. As he stared down at the rumpled sheets it hit him how late it felt. Bones must have left some time ago. Maybe a long time ago. He _did_ feel as if he’d hibernated through wint—

He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, mind spinning with what-ifs. He had no idea what time it really was. He should have checked first thing.

After a cursory look around the room, he discovered that Bones had left his PADD on the desk. Which was unusual since Spock had caught him with it earlier. But maybe he hadn’t told Bones. Shrugging indifferently, he picked it up and swept his finger across the screen—and cursed as he read the chronometer.

It was nearing 1630 hours.

That meant he’d slept the entire damn afternoon away. It meant that the police were probably gone. The devil in high heels could have showed up, already, too.

“Dammit,” he muttered, looking around frantically.

He needed shoes. A shirt that wasn’t wrinkled. Maybe some water to dash on his face—

“Jim?”

He wrenched his attention away from his scattered thoughts and glanced up to see Bones walking through the door, his face grim.

“Yeah,” Jim said, trying not to wince as he literally squeaked the thin word from his raw throat.

“You feeling okay?” Bones asked once he was in front of him.

He blinked, unsure how to answer that.

Bones folded his arms and frowned at him. “Jim?”

He stared back dumbly, the truth caught in his itchy, painful throat.

He felt like...like _shit_. He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted to finally have a _life_ again. Be a captain. Get over this business of having people wait on him, hand and foot. Punch Treadway in the face for doing this to his Bones. _Then_ crawl back under the covers.

Why couldn’t Bones see that?

Bones sighed, his arms falling to his sides. “Well, hotshot, I do see it.”

He winced. “I said that aloud?”

“Sure did,” Bones said with low nod. “Tell me you’re not going to do something stupid.”

Jim blinked. “I’m not going to do something stupid,” he repeated raspily.

“That’ll be the day,” Bones muttered. He sighed and dropped his hands, pulling his med bag around on his hip and grabbing his tricorder from its pocket like a man who had everything under control.

He was a little bit confused at Bones’s calmness, being that his best friend’s life was in complete turmoil.

“Bones,” he began.

Bones looked up at Jim, silencing him with a single, stern look. “Let me put it to you straight, Jim. You. Have,” he said slowly, “A. _Cold._ ”

Jim knew when he was defeated. He sank wearily onto the bed, dreading the verdict. “You know?” he rasped.

“You bet I do,” Bones muttered, scanning him with a tricorder. “Noticed the fever as soon as I laid down beside ya and felt the heat radiating off of your body. Explains why you’ve been chilled this afternoon.”

“Heat?” Jim whispered, confused. “Fever?”

“Yes. You spiked one while you slept, but it looks like the meds I gave you while you were out did the trick.” Bones’s brows drew together. “Well, for one symptom, at least.”

“What now?” Jim asked.

“For starters, you rest.” Bones paused, glancing up at him from the device. “Even if the police are here,” he added.

He sniffed, a cough slipping out soon after. He grimaced at the sickening sound he made. “They’re...they’re here?” he croaked. “They don’t need my statement?”

“Oh, they do,” Bones said grimly. “That’s why I came up here to wake ya up before the chief leaves.”

“Great,” he rasped, reaching to massage his aching neck.

Bones looked at him and shook his head as if in deep thought, then set his jaw. “Hands down,” he said softly. “I need to examine you.”

It wasn’t a sharp command, but he could tell that Bones wasn't in the mood for jokes. Jim quickly obeyed.

Bones dropped the tricorder on the bed and placed one hand around the back of Jim’s neck to support him and use the other to gently palpate the lymph nodes on either side of his throat. Jim watched him, unnerved by the new concentration etched on his face.

Jim breathed shallowly, feeling something like a cough creeping up in his chest. He tried to suppress it. “This is just—”

“Swallow,” Bones ordered.

Jim sputtered out a cough but obeyed, grimacing when Bones prodded too hard with his fingers.

“Gah,” he complained, coughing again with full force.

His body shook with the effort, Bones holding him steady with both hands while the episode subsided.

“Again,” Bones said once he was done.

Jim barely refrained from shooting a glare at him. First, Spock had tortured him. Now, Bones, with his old-fashioned, hands-on doctoring.

“Jim,” Bones warned gently.

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed a second time.

“Good,” Bones murmured with a slight nod to his head, still prodding, each press like a hammer.

“Good?” he croaked.

He begged to differ.

“Your lymph nodes are slightly swollen.” Bones quirked a brow. “It means the injections to boost your immunity are working, after all. Your body's fighting the infection.”

“It's just a cold, right?” he asked again, his throat and the areas surrounding it hurting more than before from Bones’s prodding.

“For now,” Bones grunted. “I’m also worried about the spacing of the injections,” he said, pausing.

That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?” he croaked.

He peered at Bones’s face, trying to get a clue as to whether this was bad news or not. Unfortunately, Bones’s expression never changed. He was in full ‘doctor’ mode.

“It means, Jim, that I need to continuously run scans and test your blood. In the past two hours while you were sleeping, I determined that we need to shorten the span between dosages to ensure that your immunity is developing properly and at the correct pace.” He breathed out slowly, dropping his hands. “Not only that, but now that you have this cold, Jim, you might need an extra round of injections.”

Dread swelled in his chest, squeezing more life out of him. More injections? Not only that, but more often? How could Bones think this was good? It was bad. Definitely bad.

He felt the world recede around him as he stared back at Bones.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. “I don't like that you're getting sick like this, Jim,” Bones said softly. “Not right after the other infection you already had and even before most of the injections are even done. Your body is beginning to fight this infection, but it doesn't mean things are normal yet. I'm concerned this cold could turn into something more. We have to be careful.”

He still wasn’t sure why that explained anything, but he nodded. Now sick again, he felt out of his element even more than usual. He knew that Bones was the doctor, and he wasn’t, but his mind was constantly playing tricks on him. He'd thought for sure he'd been improving. Getting better.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around his treatment anymore, a fact that frightened him.

In his pre-dying days, he would have had a drink to take the edge off. It was almost too painful to think of it—who was he kidding? it was painful—but he would have also searched out a one-night stand. A night with someone other than Bones, because he and Bones had not been together then.

His stomach rolled just thinking of all his past indiscretions, even when he'd loved Bones from afar.

“Hey, earth to Jim. Are you with me?” Bones called out.

Jim blinked several times and looked away. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Sure, Bones.”

Maybe he should contact Sarek again, like he had after the Narada attacks, and ask him for more meditation tips. He could just ask Spock now, too, since he knew about the meld with Selek. But...that might not be the best idea, either. On one hand he would hate to get on Spock's bad side by talking with his dad behind his back. On the other hand, who wasn’t to say that he wasn’t on Spock’s bad side already? He didn't know what to think now, since Spock had stalked out of the room.

No, he'd ask Sarek. He had approached him about his troubles before, explained to him the circumstances surrounding the meld and the resulting damage, and it just made sense to ask him again. Sarek had agreed to keep his secret at the time, provided that Jim take other steps to ensure his mental health. He had. He just hadn’t been truthful to Bones about why he couldn’t sleep and needed a sedative; or given him all the reasons why he thought he’d needed an antidepressant for a few months; or explained the reasoning behind his sudden craving for plomeek soup. Now Jim was so used to it, sometimes small inconsistencies didn’t bother him anymore.

Sarek had kept his secret before, so it was possible that he’d be just as discreet now. Jim set his jaw and made his decision. Until he discussed things with Spock again, he didn't want to aggravate the tension that presently existed between them.

Sarek, it was.

But another option had him thinking again.

 _Selek_.

Years ago, with a hope and earnestness in his eyes that he was unused to seeing in a Vulcan, the ambassador had told Jim to contact him whenever he felt inclined to do so. Jim had warmed up to the idea then, even taking him up on his offer occasionally. Now, however, he scoffed. He could just see the look on Spock’s face if he found out that he had included Selek in this again.

On second thought, contacting Selek was a bad idea. Besides, he liked Selek and didn’t want to pull Spock’s older self into a tense situation, not after all the ambassador had been through. It seemed too cruel.

He’d take care of things his own way. Just as he had before.

“You’re in your own world, Jim,” a voice by his ear murmured.

He wanted to laugh. He was in another world, all right. But not his...

“Here, allow me.” Bones took him gently by the shoulders, guiding him back down to lay on the bed.

“But, I can’t,” Jim protested weakly, yet he did nothing to stop Bones from easing him onto the mattress, his muscles the consistency of runny gelatin.

“Yes, you can,” Bones said, his smooth voice washing over him and keeping him in place under the covers. “He’ll come up and talk to you here.”

Bones wordlessly pulled a blanket over him, tucking it around him. Sighing, Jim turned his head to press his cheek against the softness of his pillow, finding comfort in it, even though it was lodged awkwardly behind his back.

“Who?” he rasped.

“Chief Larrett.” Bones’s hands guided Jim’s shoulders forward before removing Jim’s pillow from his back. He fluffed it, then repositioned so it was placed perfectly behind him.

“I could’ve done that,” he said, words hardly a whisper.

He inwardly warmed that Bones had wanted to care for him like that.

“No more talking.” Bones held up Jim’s PADD. “Use this. Spock is blocking the bond for now. Said with you being sick and then dealing with sensitive information, it was the best thing for all of us.”

Jim took the device without complaining, and without questioning Spock’s decision, earning a doubtful look from the man he loved.

He’d keep the peace between them intact for as long as possible. Once Bones knew what Jim had hidden from him for years…

There would be no more fluffing pillows for some time.

No more hand holding.

No more kissing.

No more...

Jim couldn’t even finish the thought.

He typed on his PADD instead, ignoring his hand tremors, well aware that Bones was watching his progress the entire time.

_Whhere issSpock?/_

Bones read it and threw up his hands. “Wish I knew,” he groused. “He took off.”

Jim typed quickly. _He’s gone?_

“Yeah. Gone, as in split, drove off in his hovercraft,” Bones grumbled. “Left right after Starfleet did. Said he had something to do.”

Jim slumped against his pillow, confused. Why would he just leave?

“I don’t know, Jim,” Bones said, reading him correctly. “It makes no se—”

He stopped mid-sentence and stared down at Jim’s next question. _What did tthey edecide?_

“We’re ready with a statement,” Bones explained, his eyes drawn. “If something leaks, if Treadway manages to tip off a reporter, I have something prepared.”

Jim thought for a moment before responding. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, or should know, given the nature of his PTSD, but his curiosity got the best of him.

_What would you say?_

Bones stared at the question for so long that Jim couldn't help but think the worst. That if word of his dying and subsequent resurrection by his CMO hit the news, Starfleet would be in the midst of a shitstorm. Who knew what else would be forced to come to light.

It seemed, for a time at least, that his involvement with Starfleet officials had been put on hold. Before he gave up the PADD, he typed one more thing.

_Did Spock put me to sleep on purpose?_

Bones quirked a brow at him as he grabbed the device, a look that Jim was familiar with and would see when the two ganged up on him to set him straight. He braced himself for the answer. After a few seconds, Bones turned the PADD back around to show Jim.

His reply was simple, effectively relaying Spock’s earlier intention.

 _Yes_.

Jim scowled. Both Spocks were manipulative when it suited them. However, had the situation been flipped, he probably would’ve done the same thing.

 _Knew it_ , he added, tapping the ‘t’ with deliberate force to make a point.

“It was the best thing for ya,” Bone agreed easily. “Both Starfleet and the police watched the holovid with Treadway. They know he’s a threat, and have a warrant out for his arrest, especially since Christine—”

Jim looked at him, confused. _Arrest? Christine? What do you mean Christine?_

Guilt crossed Bones’s face. “Right. I didn’t tell you about that, yet. Treadway threatened her, too. More than threatened her, but I can’t explain all that now. I will in due time. Just know that Treadway’s threats are far worse than we thought.”

Bones was talking so fast that Jim could hardly keep things straight in his cold-fogged mind, but he crossed his arms, anyway, and looked petulantly at him. Wanting answers.

“No,” Bones said, shaking his head. “We’re done talking about it. You’re ill, Jim. We have it under control. Just leave it at that.”

Jim let out a frustrated sigh, replying with more frustration. _And your statement?_ he reminded him.

“I’ll say that you'd nearly died, and Starfleet can back up this claim,” Bones explained. “I’ll say that I saved my captain’s life with a specifically made serum tailored to his needs as a victim of minor radiation exposure—a serum that is no longer in existence or reproducible because it was destroyed during the attacks. Starfleet has already worked out the details and are adding them to your file.”

Jim breathed in deeply, still unsettled. He typed again on the device and looked up when he was nearly done, catching Bones’s eye. _If this doesnj’t work and people accuse you of—_

Bones placed his hand over his, stopping his typing. “Of what? Miracles? Hiding something?”

Jim nodded.

“Then let them,” Bones said. “We have a statement. Starfleet is in agreement.”

Jim looked into Bones’s eyes, guilt flooding his soul, the very places he’d given to Bones. Every fiber of his being yearned to go back in time. Start over. Tell Bones what had happened with Selek the instant he’d returned to the Enterprise. At the very least, tell him once he’d been promoted to Captain. Or, later that night in Bones’s quarters, when all had fallen to silence for a brief moment and it had been just the two of them, except for the dream of the other him haunting his every turn, demanding that he rise to the occasion when he could not.

If only...

Bones’s eyes softened, misunderstanding his reaction. He let go of Jim to brace himself as he knelt on the floor beside him, then reached for his hand again.

“Jim, we can ward off the worst, maybe even all, of the backlash,” he said quietly, squeezing his hand. “Let's just hope it doesn't come to this.”

He leaned towards Jim, eyes falling on his mouth. Jim was pulled forward by the attraction between them, a force he could not help but yield to whenever it was Bones.

It seemed to be reciprocated until Bones’s face fell.

“Your cold,” the older man said abruptly, rocking back on his heels. “I forgot.”

Jim’s shoulders sagged. For a moment, so had he.

Bones lifted a finger and pressed it against Jim’s lips, his expression apologetic. “We’ll do this again, soon,” he breathed. “I promise. For now, you sit tight while I get the chief.”

Bones got to his feet and returned the tricorder to his bag, pulling out something else.

Jim made a face. It was a mask.

“You’ll have to wear this as a precaution, Jim.” Bones’s eyes were so tender as he handed it to him, he half-wondered if he could be dying again. “I’m making Larrett wear one, too.”

Jim decided it was just because Bones was well-aware that he hated the idea of wearing a mask at any point in time and wanted to soften the blow. He took it like an obedient patient, giving Bones a tight smile before the doctor turned around and headed back downstairs.

The room was cold and empty without him, and he found no solace, not even in the fact that he would return. He slumped against the pillow in defeat and closed his eyes, his hands clenching the mask on his lap, refusing to put it on.

He, a man who claimed he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios, a man who’d defied death with the help of a determined, relentless doctor, couldn’t help but feel that he’d been robbed of more than just a kiss. That he’d missed the one thing that would help him get through telling him the truth. That he’d missed the person that would somehow, hopefully, forgive him for trying to _protect_ him.

That he was this close to losing all that he’d recently gained.

 _Bones_.

 

oOo

 

McCoy left Jim’s room, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been like putty in his hands, even listening to his suggestion about staying in bed. The cold was a setback, plain and simple. Jim’s lack of resistance indicated his reserves were low. Resting was the best thing for Jim now, even though he, Leonard, hated the thought of sitting with Jocelyn for dinner without Jim acting as his security blanket.

He hurried down the steps to see Chief Larrett, a middle-aged, athletically-built man, pacing in the hallway while speaking into his comm. It had been a tense afternoon with numerous discoveries, with five other law officials present. Larrett was the last one remaining in the house, the others having left to seek out Treadway or take care of all legalities surrounding his arrest. Two cops stood guard outside the property.

He was still piecing it all together in his shock, and had chosen not to inform Jim of all the details, keeping his recovery in mind. Even so, his head was spinning.

First, he'd learned that Starfleet would, under no circumstances, allow their flagship’s captain to be bullied or threatened in any way during his recovery. Thus, they would be charging Treadway, after all. Despite the possibility that the ex-boxer could retaliate and leak news of the serum to the media, they had no tolerance for Treadway’s actions towards Christine or Jim. McCoy was relieved. When it came down to it, what mattered most to him was Jim’s safety.

Secondly, Christine had confessed to her part in Treadway’ scheme to Starfleet personnel in the last hour. He hadn't expected her full cooperation this soon, since she'd leaked a patient’s information, which was a severe offense. Granted, she’d been forced by Treadway to give up the information with the promise that Jim would not be harmed, but breaking an oath was breaking an oath, in Starfleet’s eyes.

Thirdly, the police had been looking for a man who resembled Treadway for months now. This was not his first offense, just his first offense in his real name rather than an alias, and it appeared that he'd been living under the radar for some time now. McCoy had a sneaking suspicion that Spock had believed this to be true all along, and had been withholding this information from them in case his assumptions were incorrect.

Now, if only he could figure out where Spock had run off to.

“He’s not there?” Larrett said, frowning. “You tried Darnell’s Financial?”

McCoy slowed as he neared the bottom step. He had to be talking about Treadway.

Larrett inhaled sharply. “This is unfortunate,” he murmured. “He couldn’t have possibly known about the warrant. Did you speak with his fiancé?”

Larrett’s frowned deepened during a moment of silence.

McCoy fingered his own comm, debating whether to try and reach Christine, tell her that when it came down to it, he had no hard feelings against her. The poor woman. What she must be going through. It was quite possible that she would be brought up on charges for her part in this, if they could not prove that Treadway had, indeed, blackmailed her. For now, however, officials were satisfied with her cooperation and, for her safety, had assigned a watch to her.

He couldn't help but think that her current roommate, Dr. Marcus, could possibly be a target now, too, because Christine had cooperated. For both of their sakes, he hoped that they listened to everything Starfleet asked of them.

Jim would never forgive himself if they were harmed because of him. Neither would he, for that matter. As much as he hated it, he was tangled up in this as much or more than Jim.

He would also hold onto hope that Christine would not lose her credentials as a nurse or this one indiscretion ruin her career forever. She was a damn good nurse, one he'd be proud to work beside. He'd always hoped that she'd become comfortable working on a starship again. _Jim’s_ starship.

Larrett hummed. “She has no idea? Treadway obviously had a plan in place for awhile and covered his tracks as much as possible. However, it's possible he could have mentioned a place to her that he’d flee to, if he were caught. Question her again.” Larrett stopped speaking again, listening to the other side but only for a moment. “Yet, thanks to Commander Spock and his quick thinking, we were able to discover a trail of Treadway’s unpaid debts for the past five years. He likely found out about our investigation over the last twenty-four hours and panicked.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes. So Spock _had_ known. He didn’t understand why he’d had to be secretive about all of this, but one thing he was learning was that the commander protected those he loved. Jim would balk at the idea that Spock loved him, but he, Leonard, knew for a fact that Spock did love him. Not in the way that he cared for Uhura, but as a brother. Their bond was strong.

“Ask her again,” Larrett insisted. “Place plainclothes officers near the buildings exits to watch out for Treadway.”

Concerned at the implications of that order, McCoy caught Larrett’s eye. He hadn’t thought of Jocelyn’s well-being in a long time, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care. She was Joanna’s mother, after all. He didn’t want her to be in the middle of his mess, in the first place. But he couldn’t see her lying to the police, no matter how much she loved Treadway. He didn’t see her helping a wanted criminal, either.

The chief covered the speaker with his hand. “How is he?” he whispered to McCoy. “Can he talk?”

McCoy hesitated. He hadn’t even told Jim of his decision. He didn’t want him to worry unnecessarily. Knowing Jim, he wouldn't be able to rest once he knew.

“Dr. McCoy?” Larrett pressed. “I only have a few minutes before I must leave.”

“He’s an ill man. You can only have a few minutes. I'm concerned his health will worsen if I keep him here,” he admitted. “I’ll have to transport him to Starfleet General and admit him later this evening.”

Larrett’s jaw firmed. “I must insist that you speak with security and allow them to provide an escort. Treadway is on the loose. Your ex-wife doesn't know where he is.”

She’d always been a good liar. Her smooth talking had gotten them out of trouble when they’d been dating behind their parents’ backs, but he hated the thought of her lying now. “I could call and try—”

Larrett shook his head. “You have enough on your shoulders, Dr. McCoy. Your daughter and Captain Kirk are your first priority. Not your ex-wife.”

McCoy grew quiet. So they were. Jocelyn would be livid over this. And he couldn't blame her. They'd tarnished her fiance’s name in one afternoon, though Treadway had done this to himself in the first place. He'd also violated their recent verbal agreement.

“I'll need just one moment with him,” Larrett continued.

McCoy nodded. “That’s about all he can handle, to be frank.”

“He was a brave man, standing up to Treadway,” Larrett mused.

“He was stupid,” McCoy muttered.

Reckless. Self-sacrificing. Honorable.

Larrett quirked a brow, but returned to his partner on the comm. “Barrow?” he asked. “I’m going to speak with Captain Kirk now. I’ll comm you when I’m on my way.”

Larrett ended the call and inclined his head towards McCoy. “Barrow said your ex-wife is a bit shell-shocked. Does she have a friend she can call?”

McCoy swallowed uncomfortably. He couldn’t think of one, sadly. At one time, he’d known her to be such a social butterfly that he didn't know whether she was coming or going. But that had been before Joanna had been born, also before Joanna’s serious illness as a baby, and before he’d started down a rough road of his own making. All he knew now was that she worked. Worked a lot.

It was interesting that Larrett hadn’t mentioned family. He rubbed his jaw, staring hard at him. “Is there a reason why you didn’t ask me if she had a family member to talk to?”

Larrett wagged a brow. “Let’s just say I’ve been around. I have a gut feeling that her very business-minded family will not be happy about this faux pas of hers.”

“You’re right about that,” McCoy muttered. “They weren’t happy when I bought her a hovercraft for our anniversary. Was nicer than the one she has now—but the wrong color and size, and from the wrong dealership.”

Larrett gave him a sad smile. “I’d say, if you didn't have a sick Captain on your hands, to call her yourself. But I imagine that with the tension already existing between the two of you, it wouldn’t be a good idea. This is another point against you, McCoy, at least in her eyes.”

And did he ever know it. Thanks to him, she was marrying a wanted man. It wouldn’t help her case to keep Jojo, if she stuck out the engagement. On the other hand, if she broke the engagement she had every right to continue to pursue full custody. Her wrath against him would prevail.

He’d done this to her, in more ways than one. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wished that he’d never returned from space to begin with.

 

oOo

 

Her heart thrumming, Jocelyn wrung her hands as she stared out the window from her business office on the fifty-third floor. The city below her was functioning as it always had. Even her office was running smoothly. In fact, up until about an hour ago, she had been planning to leave soon for Eleanora’s house, where she’d been roped into having dinner with her ex.

Funny how things worked. She'd wanted nothing to do with Len or his current love—no one could deny that he and Jim had a thing for each other—and in a twist of circumstances, she’d been facing hours with them. Or however long they had planned to keep her there in an attempt to sway her. Now, through another twist of circumstances, she had decided to cancel on him.

There'd been a time before Clay, before the idea of taking complete custody of Joanna, when she'd looked forward to talking with her ex. Maybe even Jim.

Clay had changed all of that, and she simply couldn't explain why or how he'd done so. And now, things had changed again.

Because of Len, her fiancé was on the run from the police, facing charges she honestly didn’t fully understand. She was in quite a mess. A mess she did not want any part of, but here she was in the middle of it.

“Mrs. McCoy,” her secretary said through the speaker.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, Dominick.”

“Your last appointment for the day canceled and asked to be rescheduled for tomorrow.”

Though she hated the thought of an even busier day tomorrow, she didn’t mind the breathing room. The police had just left. At least this way, she could have tea, calm her stomach….

Who was she kidding? Her fiancé was stupidly running from the police—to where, she had no idea—and her ex-husband was probably laughing at her from behind his mother’s front door. Her family would soon find out about Clay and his double life. Also something of which she’d been clueless.

There was nothing—absolutely nothing—that she could do to calm her fears. Still, she needed to find things to keep herself busy. Like she always did. Like Leonard had always done.

“Tomorrow morning is fine. Make it for 7:30,” she said, knowing without looking that her upcoming schedule was too full to see this client otherwise.

She’d torture herself by coming in early. She’d even ask Nora to watch Joanna overnight again. At this point, she didn’t care what clue that gave Len about her mental state. She wanted Joanna somewhere calm and, while Clay was out there, she could not be a safe haven for her own daughter.

She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Clay sometimes used his brawn as a threat to people. And if what Len and the police had said was true, Clay was not a stable man.

She’d like to think she had enough good sense to keep her daughter safe—and away from Clay until she could talk to him herself.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jocelyn sighed and pulled on her sweater, an old thing she kept around but never wore anywhere but in her own office. It even had a hole that she refused to mend because it reminded her of sunshine and tea on Nora’s front porch, those afternoons she’d spent unhurriedly catching up on the McCoys. In fact, Nora had given her this sweater the Christmas after she’d divorced Len.

She’d never tell Len, but the reason she couldn’t stand him was because she missed him. She missed the laughter that would soften the stress lines around his mouth. Missed the way he teased their daughter, encouraging her giggles. Missed the fact that even though they were divorced, he’d needed her.

Ever since he’d joined Starfleet, he hadn’t needed her like he had before. One could argue that she’d never stopped loving him, but that wasn’t the case. She had stopped loving him, at least like a lover would. She still loved him for Joanna, though her actions and words would seem to indicate otherwise.

She’d wanted Clay’s attention to make up for what she'd lost, a man who’d given her his love within a week of meeting her. She’d wanted a father that was present for Joanna, and Clay had, at least at first, proven to her that he was that man. She’d wanted a second chance at true love, maybe at the expense of her heart, for she was starting to understand now that Clay didn’t love her like she’d thought he did.

He loved the idea of her and her only, the idea of her and Joanna, as his family. But he’d wanted nothing to do with the responsibilities that came with them. That he was fleeing from the police was proof.

He balked at the mention of school shopping with them for Joanna, argued about where they’d spend the holidays, even refused to go into the bookstore that Joanna loved.

He’d made an attempt at first, back when she’d been enamored by the way he could charm her speechless and scoop her into his arms and carry her up to their bedroom like she was both a feather and the most precious treasure on earth. He’d been a passionate lover, more than Len had been towards the end of their marriage, given her more attention than Len had that last year. He’d helped around the house. Even helped Joanna with schoolwork once or twice.

Taken as a whole, she'd been stupid to fall for him so quickly. However, she could not deny her love for him, affection that kept her holding onto hope that he was innocent of the things they’d accused him of.

“Mrs. McCoy,” Dominick said through the speaker.

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Commander Spock is here to see you, ma’am. He is insisting it's of dire importance.”

She drummed her nails on her desk, irritated. Besides Captain Kirk, a man with whom she could not compete, and also her ex, Mr. Spock was the last being in the universe she wanted to talk to right now. Especially unannounced.

However, she had a feeling that he would not relent. He’d stay until she left her office for the day.

“Send him in,” she said, peeling off her sweater and stuffing it under her desk, with a flick of her shoe, where no one would see it.

“Very well.”

The door opened seconds later, Commander Spock striding through her door exactly like she’d expected him to do.

Shoulders straight, chin lifted, eyes fierce. Like this was the very ship he helped command.

And who was she to compete with that….

She lifted her own chin and indicated with her hand the chair in front of her desk, where she was seated “Please. Take a seat, Mr. Spock.”

“As I do not intend to speak with you at length, I would prefer to stand.”

Of course he did. “Why are you here? You are aware that I was invited to dinner tonight.”

“It is necessary for me to insist that you keep this invitation, despite what has transpired this afternoon.”

“Meaning?”

“Your presence is necessary.”

“I am under no obligation to do anything,” she said through clenched teeth. “Leonard told me they would file charges...but an arrest wasn’t imminent.”

“Mr. Treadway’s own actions have determined his course.”

“After being provoked by _you_ ,” she clipped.

“You use the term ‘you’ quite loosely,” Spock said, quirking a brow.

“I believe I have a right to include you in the mix, the same as Len and Jim,” she said in defiance. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the one who decided to act on their behalf.”

“Your fiancé cannot threaten the captain, using illegal means to do so,” Spock said coolly.

She bit back a curse. What had Clay _done_? “By illegal, you’re referring to the information he obtained on this...serum?” She had no understanding of this _serum_ , no knowledge of it. The first time she’d even heard about it was when Starfleet officials questioned her about it.

She was grasping at straws, going into this _blind_.

“Yes,” he said, walking to the side of her desk. He clasped his hands behind his back and peered out her window. “Your fiancé has revealed his true character. We did not provoke him. He threatened not only Jim, but Nurse Chapel, blackmailing her—”

“—into giving him information from Jim’s medical file,” she finished for him, having heard that from the law enforcement officials’ mouths herself.

“Indeed,” he said carefully.

She inwardly stewed, even more irritated now that she was being fed crumbs—pieces—that weren’t connecting as easily as she’d like them to. She had no clear picture of what Leonard, Mr. Spock—and all of Starfleet, for that matter—were trying to hide.

Her stomach rolled, threatening to pitch its contents. For Len to risk custody of Jojo over this, for him to not give into Clay and his threats and demands—this had to be big.

And deep down, she knew that it had to be something that she would have fought to keep secret herself, had she’d known before getting involved with Clay.

She clenched her teeth, anxiously grinding them. Damn Len for pulling her into this crazy mess of his. Jim was at the heart of it, but Len, too. She was certain of this. He was the captain’s attending physician, after all.

She was also positive that her family would disown her if Clay was found guilty and she had stuck by his side during the hearings.

She would be on her own.

She would either lose Clay—or her family and reputation.

And Joanna?

How could she even think of herself as a good mother if she isolated her young daughter from _all_ of her grandparents? Certainly, after all she'd done to hurt Leonard, Nora would not accept her with open arms.

“Even if he did do these things, it can't be as bad as you're insinuating,” she argued.

“Mrs. McCoy, you must understand that if Mr. Treadway has leaked this information to the press, it will begin a series of events, all of which will deeply affect Jim and Leonard,” he said softly. “And it will only continue.”

“So you want me to back off?” she asked with a dry laugh. “Go easy on him? Allow him _rights_?”

His expression darkened. “In order for you to do so, you must first be given the opportunity to understand what transpired.”

She ignored his frightful look of superiority, and crossed her legs at her desk, equally confident. In her line of work, she had to be the boss in every situation. She’d treat this no differently. “Since there is nothing that you can say that will intimidate me, I’m all ears.”

His eyes hardened upon her like he knew she was the hypocrite she denied to herself being. “And the truth?”

“If it will get you off my back, it’s all I want,” she snapped, wanting to get this meeting over with.

Spock turned his body away from the window and stepped towards her. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she bit out, when he was too close for comfort.

“You could not handle it,” he said icily.

It was a dare she could not refuse.

She stood, straightening to her full five-feet-seven-inches with heels, and looked him in the eye. She’d do it their way and get it over with. Let Leonard know once and for all that she meant business. She wanted a life with Joanna, away from the heartache that Leonard represented to her, but with Clay, as hard an adjustment it might be.

Spock had to be wrong. Joanna would be fine with her—and Clay. Despite Clay being very different from Leonard. Kids adjusted to new parents all the time. Generation after generation. They were resilient. Jojo would be fine. Even her own family would eventually accept Clay.

She would be fine as well, even if she had to hold her breath around Clay’s unpredictable temperament every day.

“Try me,” she baited him. “I want to understand.”

“You say you are ready, but you are not,” he asserted.

She glared at him. “Is it my humanness?”

“It is not a matter of your humanness,” he replied coldly. “You are not capable of understanding.”

“Oh? Not capable? You are rather rude, Mr. Spock,” she taunted. “Ironic, given that your blood is human, too.”

“It is the truth. And while I am half-human, I speak to you as a Vulcan. Our touch telepathy alone enhances—”

She blinked. _Touch telepathy?_

“—our understanding—”

Touch telepathy?

Of course. She'd forgotten.

“Then _show_ me,” she blurted, stopping him mid-sentence.

She could’ve sworn she saw triumph flash across the Vulcan’s face.

He took one step closer, his presence even more intimidating than it had been a moment before.

She wanted to retract her reply—her own brash daring—but to save face, she could not.

“Show me,” she whispered, drawing an insolent, shaking breath she could not tame.

“Indeed, Mrs. McCoy,” Spock said, peering down his nose at her. “Since you are asking, then I certainly shall.”

 

oOo

 

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” McCoy said as he poured fresh iced tea into the glasses on the table.

Jojo refolded a napkin she had just creased in the center then looked up at him. “When’s Mommy coming?”

“Soon, sweetheart.”

Or so he hoped. He hadn’t received word, one way or another, and they were late. It’d break Jojo’s heart if she didn’t come. She’d put “extra love” into the potatoes, more sugar in the tea, nestled “her” chair between her mother’s and father’s places at the table.

“Have you heard from Mr. Spock?” his mother asked.

McCoy glanced up from his table duties to find both of them staring at him in anticipation. “No, I haven’t.”

His mother glanced behind her back, as if looking up the stairs down the hall. “Jim?” she asked softly.

“He’s asleep now,” McCoy muttered, walking away with the pitcher. “Speaking with Larrett wore him out.”

His mother came up beside him. “Here, let me take that. Stay with Joanna.”

He reluctantly handed her the pitcher. He needed something to _do_. Keep his hands busy.

“When was the last time you checked on Jim?” she asked.

“Ten minutes ago. He was out like a light. Didn’t even need the sedative I’d prepared just in case.”

Even as he explained, he heard his white lie, loud and clear. He hadn't given Jim a sedative because he hoped that Jim would be awake when Jocelyn arrived.

Nora sent him a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt him to eat with us, at least for a short time.”

And allow Jocelyn another opportunity to ignorantly degrade him? Taunt him? No.

“I thought it wouldn't hurt to bring him here,” he said, with more control than he was feeling. “And look what happened. He’s sick.”

“You couldn’t have known, son,” she said soothingly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Well, I do blame myself,” he grumbled.

She took a breath, and reached out, grabbing him by the arm and gently squeezing his bicep. “Son, take this evening a moment at a time. Jim will do better on the transport back to the hospital once he’s rested for awhile. Spend this time with Jocelyn and Joanna as planned. Show her how much you love Jojo and how much Jojo loves you.”

He kneaded his forehead. He just wasn’t sure if it—if baring his heart to the cold-hearted woman his ex-wife had become—would be enough.

“I’m sure Spock will arrive soon and help this dinner go smoothly,” she added quietly.

“He’s usually so punctual,” he muttered.

“Daddy?”

McCoy turned around at his daughter’s bright voice.

“I hear a hovercraft! I think Mommy’s here!” she chimed, dashing off without his reply. “I’ll let her in!”

He stared after her, swallowing the lump in his throat. This was going to be the death of him. His support system had vanished. He felt more vulnerable than ever.

“I know this is hard for you, Leonard,” his mother said, embracing him from the side. She leaned her head against his arm. Grateful for the comfort, he wrapped his arm around her and hugged her. “But all you need to do is be yourself. Don’t let the past get in the way. This is a new start.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Did I tell you how wonderful you are, Mama?”

“You don’t have to. It’s enough to have you here,” she whispered.

He pressed another kiss to her head, lingering. He knew she missed Donna, his sister, a woman who was a stranger to the family ever since their father died.

She’d never even met Jojo, something he couldn’t help but hold against her. Since Joanna’s birth, he’d only spoke to Donna twice. Once after Jocelyn’s divorce, when he’d commed her because he didn't want their mother to be alone after he joined Starfleet. Not that it helped. She’d never commed back. The second time, Donna had contacted him, anxious to know if he was okay following the Narada attacks.

Their comm had ended with her saying she’d comm him again when she was ready. She’d never contacted him again. Her continued estrangement baffled him. She had no idea what had transpired during their father’s last days, no reason to avoid him.

He was their mother’s anchor. His presence here at her house couldn't be under more difficult circumstances, but here she was, as kind and compassionate as always.

“I better go,” he whispered, dropping his arm.

Nora’s eyes were wet as she looked up at him. “She’ll see who you are, Leonard Horatio McCoy. Trust me.”

He took a breath, nodding with a small smile. “You mean that Southern charm you graced me with?”

Nora smiled. “As long as you try to get along. Now, go.”

He wagged his brows and left the room, taking his mother’s words to heart as much as he could.

He rounded the corner, listening for the sound of Jojo’s voice, but heard nothing.

“Jojo?” he called out.

Hearing nothing, he picked up his pace and practically jogged to the front door.

“Jojo,” he called out again. “Where are—”

He stopped in tracks, his words fading when he saw the two people with Joanna, one of whom wore an unmistakeable disheveled, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. The other, the missing Vulcan, was as stoic as ever.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something just wasn’t right.

“Mommy’s here, Daddy!” Jojo smiled and closed her eyes, gluing herself to Jocelyn’s side. “We made mashed potatoes and I made iced tea, extra sweet, just like you like it!”

“Jocelyn?” McCoy asked, concerned when she didn’t speak.

In fact, she didn’t look at him at all. She actually looked liked she was trying to hide behind Spock, her posture submissive.

It was odd and extremely out of character, but he was more concerned with the fact that they appeared to have arrived at the same time.

“Where have you been?” he asked Spock.

“Will the Captain be joining us?” Spock asked primly.

Jocelyn startled, seemingly losing her footing. Spock held onto her arm to steady her.

“He’s sleeping,” he groused. “Talking with Chief Larrett for all of five minutes wore him out.”

Jocelyn sucked in a sharp breath. Spock’s hand never moved an inch. In fact, the commander might have even moved closer to her.

“I’ll let him rest while we eat, then…” He heaved a sigh. “We’ll head back to San Francisco.”

Jocelyn’s face grew pale, her hand moving to cover her stomach as if she were sick.

“That is...unfortunate,” Spock murmured.

“It was a risk that he—that _we_ —took in coming here,” McCoy said. “I can’t risk anything else.”

She squeezed her red-rimmed eyes shut, her hands clenched in front of her. Her hands _trembling_.

He stepped forward, worried that she would actually faint, pass out on the floor.

“Where were you, Spock?” he asked slowly, their close contact unnerving.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Spock had yet to let go of her—and Jocelyn was standing there as if she didn’t care that he had her in a solid hold.

“I had a particular matter of which to tend,” Spock said vaguely. “I met Mrs. McCoy on the way.”

That was bullshit in Vulcan if he ever heard it. “What’s going on?” he asked, scowling. “You’re both acting…”

He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering that they had a small audience who was listening to every word. He had to tread cautiously.

He huffed. “What is going on?” he repeated. “Is something wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Jocelyn whispered, averting her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Nothing wrong his foot. “Jocelyn—”

She shook her head, briefly meeting his gaze. He blinked at her, shocked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever seen evidence of tears on her face.

“P-please, Len,” she whispered, her faint voice shaking. “N-not now.”

He frowned and cocked his head at her, concerned. She never asked for anything from him. Even something as simple as silence.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered to Jojo, her hands still shaking as she put them on their daughter's shoulders. “Let’s find your grandmother. Your father and Mr. Spock will be ready to eat soon, I’m sure.”

She nudged Jojo along, leaving him to stare after them, baffled.

She’d sounded unsure of herself. She’d sounded _kind_. She looked… _awful_. Like she’d been crying—and was ready to cry again.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked harshly once they were out of earshot. He turned to Spock. “What did you _do_ to her?”

“I did nothing,” Spock said, his brows meeting in the middle.

“There’s something you’re not tellin’ me,” he accused.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “If Mrs. McCoy is expecting our presence, may I suggest that we not waste time by discussing this matter and, instead, partake of the meal she has graciously prepared,” he finished, already moving away.

A frustrated groan rumbled from his chest. “Now, wait a minute. First you leave without warning, and now you won’t explain why? I thought we were in this together.”

Spock twisted his head around, his eyes like steel. Rigid. Unrelenting. “Doctor McCoy, you will listen to me,” he ordered in a hushed voice. “You will not ask anything of your ex-wife tonight.”

McCoy’s mouth fell open.

If he didn’t know any better, they were on the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock as Acting Captain.

“Now is not the proper time to discuss what you have witnessed,” Spock continued.

“But, why?” he asked, finding his voice. “Did you see the look on Jocelyn’s face? If she’s upset about Clay, or not feeling well—”

“She is fine,” Spock said firmly. “Dr. McCoy, may I reiterate that it is not the proper time...to ask _questions_. Not when there is so much at stake.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the knots in his stomach tightening.

“Then, tell me,” he said, his heart thudding in his ears. “What _is_ it time for?”

Spock’s jaw firmed and he stared past him to the staircase, just like Nora had earlier, towards the general direction of Jim. “Come,” he said, voice softening. He looked away. “I believe I heard your mother calling us for dinner.”

 

oOo

 

Jim slipped on the robe that he'd found laid out for him on the bed, and gratefully slid his feet into the well-padded, plaid slippers he’d found on the floor. Bones’s voice had awakened him from his second nap of the day, reminding him that he was missing something very important. Dinner.

He wasn’t surprised they’d started without him. Neither did he care all that much. His stomach rolled at the thought of sitting down to eat. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the all too familiar, recurring aversion of food. At least he’d had Nora’s pie—and had enjoyed it before it had been too late to actually savor what he’d eaten. His stomach was nauseated again, his throat was raw. He couldn't smell a thing, either. He wouldn’t be eating or drinking anything, not if he could help it. But he couldn't let that stop him from going downstairs and checking up on Bones.

The only thing that could stop him was Bones, himself, and if the doctor decided to take him back up stairs and tuck him in bed again, then so be it. He’d at least make an appearance. A bedraggled, lousy one, scoring himself and Bones no points in impressions, but at least he could shoot Jocelyn a murderous look, given the opportunity.

Running his hands through his slightly greasy hair, he made his way out of the room and down the hall to the top of the stairs. He gripped the banister, his breath catching as he took in the number of steps before him, spiraling out of control. They seemed endless.

He clung to the banister for dear life. He’d forgotten how damn long it had taken him to get up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, he took each step like an aged man. Carefully. Deliberately. The long, loose robe didn’t help his progress. He stopped halfway down the stairs to tighten his belt, leaning against the wall for support. He could hear Bones talking again, but something about his tone wasn’t right.

“I didn’t realize that being here would upset you this much,” he was saying.

“It’s not… _you_ , Len.” Jocelyn's voice was thin, cracking when she said her ex's name.

“Yeah, right,” Bones muttered.

“It’s not—”

Silverware clattered against a plate. “But it is,” Bones insisted. “And I can’t...I can’t sit here and watch you sit through this whole damn meal—”

“Son—” Nora cautioned.

“Like you’re afraid I’ll hurt you,” Bones said finished, his voice raising with every word.

Jim crept down the rest of the stairs, hugging the wall as he suppressed a coughing fit. He leaned his head against the wall once the urge to cough subsided, breathing shallowly. What had Bones arguing with Joce already? And swearing? Bones always watched his tongue around Jojo.

“I’m not...afraid,” Jocelyn said, with a hint of her usual bite.

“You coulda fooled me,” Bones grouched. “You can’t even look at me, Joce.”

“It’s been a stressful afternoon,” Jocelyn whispered.

“You got that right,” Bones said with a growl. “And it’s far from finished.”

More silverware clanged.

“Doctor McCoy—”

“Just a minute, Spock,” Bones said tightly. “This is between me—and my ex-wife. Not you.”

“Joanna,” Nora said quietly. “Why don’t we see about having dessert out on the porch.”

“But I’m not done!” Joanna protested.

Jim could just imagine her pouting at the thought of leaving her mashed potatoes on the plate, half-eaten.

“Dear, we’ll come back,” her grandmother soothed. “But I need you to help me get things ready for everyone.”

“But, Nana!”

“Jojo,” Bones warned.

“Okay, Daddy,” Joanna whispered reluctantly, just as Jim reached the bottom step.

He remained still, willing Nora and Jojo not to look back as they walked hand-in-hand out of the other dining room door and headed towards the kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner, leaving him undiscovered in this part of the house.

“I’m not gonna lie, Joce,” Leonard said thickly. “I'm going to miss her.”

Someone—Jocelyn?—began to cry.

Jim inched towards the doorless entrance to the dining room. He peered around the wall to see Bones grimace as he watched Jocelyn, and run his hands over his face.

“Unbelievable,” Bones muttered.

Spock tipped his head towards him. “Doctor, I fail to see—”

Bones rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Because she doesn't do this—she doesn't cry!”

Jocelyn covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her sobs. Tears trailed down her cheeks, all the proof they needed that she _did_ cry.

Even Jim was shocked by her behavior. And confused. This was not the Jocelyn that he knew. No wonder Bones was scratching his head.

“And why would she?” Bones pointed out bitterly. “It's not like _she's_ the one never going to see our daughter again!”

Jocelyn’s crying increased as she put her head down, her hair falling across her face like a shroud.

Bones blinked several times, rubbing his eyes as he stared at her. “Christ,” he said under his breath, his brow knitting together before he turned to Spock. “See?”

“Doctor, I admit that it is...unusual.”

Bones huffed. “I don’t like it when you agree with me—”

“You are quite contrary, Leonard—” Spock began.

“Even so,” Bones interrupted, “since you’re admitting that’s it’s strange, will you tell me what’s going on?” he asked, accusation pouring from his eyes.

“It’s n-nothing. I’m fine,” Jocelyn whispered before Spock could get a word in edgewise. She brushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “Len—”

Bones took one look at her tear-stained face and threw his napkin down on his plate. “This isn't nothing,” he interrupted harshly. “Is it Clay? Me? Something else I did?”

“N-no.” Jocelyn wrapped her arms around her chest. “Y-you can h-have her,” she gulped, her slim shoulders shaking.

Bones blinked at her. “What?”

Jim wondered if he’d misheard her. She’d...conceded?

“We b-both can,” she said, averting her face.

“Did you just…?” Bones looked at her in confusion.

She nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “I'm dropping the c-case.”

But Bones acted like he didn’t care that she’d just handed him back his rights to Jojo, and shot a heated glare at Spock. “Did you threaten her?” he asked harshly. “Because if you did, you just stooped as low as Treadway.”

Jim couldn’t help but agree.

“I did not,” Spock said indignantly, as if that was the last thing on earth he’d done.

But Jim saw it.

It was unmistakeable. There was a gleam in his eye. A look that he— _Jim_ —recognized. He'd seen it on a Vulcan before.

He’d seen it on the other Spock.

And on his Spock.

“Joce?” Bones said, voice suddenly tender. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder but she shrugged away from him, caught in another torrent of cries.

Jim stared at Spock, then Jocelyn, and back at Spock. All three caught in an endless cycle of pain, confusion, and stubbornness. He felt like he was watching a train wreck, one that finally didn’t include him. At least...not directly.

Bones tore his gaze from Jocelyn and glared once more at Spock. “You did something,” he argued. “I know you did.”

“I did _not_ ,” Spock growled.

“You came here _together_ ,” Bones shot back. “Explain that.”

“Stop it,” Jocelyn demanded. “Both of you, just...stop.”

They both fell silent immediately, looking at her in surprise.

She drew a tremulous breath. “I asked, Len,” she continued. “I _asked_ him.”

Bones’s expression grew wary. “Asked him what?”

Jocelyn sniffed and exchanged a look with Spock. “I…” she hesitated.

“Joce?” Bones pressed.

She bit her bottom lip, glancing back down at her lap. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Bones guffawed. “Unbelievable…you two...it’s obvious you’re hiding something. Explains why you shut down the bond!”

It suddenly came together with such clarity—such absurdity—in his mind that he couldn't help but... _laugh_.

Hiding something?

Blocked the bond?

Arrived together?

Jocelyn? _Crying_?

“Fuck me,” he breathed, chuckling humorlessly.

Spock—their Spock—had actually done it.

Bones shot to his feet, now seeing him in the doorway. “Jim,” he said earnestly. “You’re sick. You shouldn't be down here.”

He ignored him and stepped into the dining room, his eyes widening on Spock as the reality of his First’s actions truly hit him. “Oh, my God. You _didn’t_.”

“Captain, I am unaware as to what you are referring,” Spock said calmly.

Jim shook his head in disbelief, missing Jocelyn’s frozen expression as she stared at him like was a ghost. “We’re back to Captain now?”

“My intention is to show my respect.”

“You mean to say that you’re still upset with me,” Jim argued back. “Case in point, what you did to Jocelyn.”

“Captain, I admit that I do not follow your train of logic.”

Bones frowned. “Jim—”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he said angrily. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

“Hold on, Spock,” Bones said.

“Captain,” Spock said, pushing his chair out to stand. “I do not.”

“Jim—”

“Not now, Bones. You took it out on her, Spock,” he stressed, looking pointedly at Jocelyn. “You were mad at the other you—”

“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Bones. “What does the other Spock have to do with—”

Spock rolled his shoulders. “That has nothing to do with what occurred—”

“—for what he did to me—”

“—any of this?” Bones finished.

“It has everything to do with it,” he argued. “You can’t tell me that one has nothing to do with the other.”

“—with Mrs. McCoy in her office,” Spock finished at the same time.

“Oh, so now you’ll admit to what you did,” Jim said with a dry laugh. “You admit that you melded with her?”

They all glanced at Jocelyn. She inched her body backwards in her seat, wringing her hands on her lap.

“You melded with her?” Bones echoed.

“Bones, don’t worry about it,” Jim pleaded.

Bones shifted his gaze to look at Spock in confusion. “With Joce? Why?”

Jim had a sneaking suspicion as to why. To end this nonsense once and for all.

Spock's eyes flickered with unease. “I do not believe that we should discuss this here.”

“No,” Bones said, turning to stare at Jim. “I think we _should_ discuss this. Jim, how did you know—”

“I didn’t,” Jim denied with a shrug.

“Indeed, he did,” Spock countered.

Jim narrowed his eyes at him. Why the hell was Spock changing his tune all of a sudden? “Did _not_.”

“Captain, you were the one to first question my actions,” Spock said.

“I guessed,” he snapped. “She's….” He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down, regain control of this situation, if he’d had any control in the first place. “ _Emotional_.”

“Well, that’s putting it lightly,” Bons muttered.

“An assumption, Captain, which was based on our earlier discussion—and my discovery.” Spock paused. “Also, on your own experience.”

He wanted to face-palm himself. Why was Spock giving Bones this sensitive information? Information that could tip the precarious peaceful balance between them?

“Hold on,” Bones ordered, walking around the table so he was sandwiched between them. He turned and stared at Jim. “What the hell is Spock talking about? What discovery? What experience?”

Jim’s mouth snapped shut. He understood Spock’s tendency to tell the truth—in all circumstances—but he hadn’t expected an all out heart-to-heart, a sharing session.

“Jim?” Bones asked again.

Spock took a breath. “The Captain—”

Jim stepped forward, chest swelling with panic. He really was going to tell him. “No. Spock—”

“—and I had a disagreement once I learned—”

His throat shrunk, blocking all air. “Fuck, Spock. _Don’t_ ,” he pleaded hoarsely.

“—that the ambassador melded with him when they first met, resulting in unforeseen effects, on—”

The dread washing over him felt like a heavy chain draped around his neck, pulling him down. “Stop,” he begged, racking his brain for some logic to throw at him. “If you want to salvage the rest of our sanity right now, don’t...don’t say it.”

Spock grew quiet, but his hesitation cost them both.

Bones’s expression grew cold. “Jim? Is this true?”

Jim clenched his hands at his sides, hardly knowing what to do with himself. The train wreck was happening—and he was in the center of it.

“Spock?” Bones asked.

Spock’s jaw firmed, but there was a hesitancy in his eyes.

Jim stared at his First, pleading with him. “—don’t—”

“Jim,” Bones gritted. “Is. This. True?”

He stubbornly lifted his chin—and shook his head. A blatant lie, but this was not the time for _this_ truth.

The warmth in his eyes all but gone, Bones’s impassive expression chilled him to the bone. He turned his neck, inclined his head towards Spock, but his eyes never left Jim’s face.

In that moment, Jim understood that his secrets had damaged—maybe even irrevocably—the one thing that mattered more than anything.

Bones’s love.

“Spock?” Bones asked in a low voice. “Did Selek meld with Jim, cause him….” He swallowed. “Many of the problems he complained to me about following the Narada attacks?”

Jim inwardly winced. Sometimes he really hated the way Bones’s brain functioned. How he knew exactly when to call him on his bullshit.

“Yes,” the Vulcan admitted.

Bones’s nostrils flared. “When, Jim? Where?”

“N-nowhere,” he stammered.

Bones growled. “So help me, Jim, this is the last goddamn thing I need right now!”

Jim’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew what it was. He knew what an ass he was because he couldn't help but keep things secret, not when they could potentially harm others, even at the expense of his own honor. Not when he could protect himself.

“Delta Vega,” he admitted painfully.

Bones’s expression fell, breaking into a thousand pieces. In that singular moment, he saw that Bones remembered everything that had happened following his venture on the ice planet, everything that he had said to him once he’d returned to the Enterprise.

Now lies. Now deceit. Plain and simple.

He couldn’t bear to look in the eyes of the man he loved and witness his hurt.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Like a coward, he looked down at his feet, his breaths heavy and labored, until Bones spoke into the frightfully tense silence.

“All this time,” Bones asked in a hushed voice. “And you never even thought it would be a good idea to tell me? To explain to me what was really going on with you?”

“I didn't...think it was necessary.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, another headache coming on as fast as his lies were biting him from behind. “I thought I could handle it.”

It was a poor excuse, but the truth. He hadn’t thought of the implications back then. Only of keeping it together on his own. Bones had had enough to deal with, stepping immediately into Puri’s position as CMO. _All_ of them had had so many responsibilities…

He didn’t want his friends to blame Selek, when, after the meld, everything had been so damn clear. At least for a time.

He’d done what he’d had to do. He’d done it well. He just hadn't expected it to snowball like it had. He never expected that he’d still have moments of being Vulcan. Or nightmares that involved his planet imploding. Or the depression that had worsened after he’d died, the intense longing he had to be the other him.

Stable.

With a father.

_He’d had a dad. A father who’d watched him become captain._

How could he not be depressed about that? At least once in awhile? How could he not feel ashamed for about what had happened to him? For having new ideas he couldn't account for on his own?

Bones sucked in a sharp breath, as soon as the thoughts crossed his mind.

Jim glanced up at him, stricken with guilt when their eyes met. He couldn’t believe it. Spock had lifted the shields, allowing that single thought to bleed through the bond—and head straight towards Bones. His thoughts had been laid bare in a moment of weakness.

“What damage has this done, Spock?” Bones asked in a controlled, ‘doctor’s’ voice, watching him without blinking an eye. “What are we looking at here? Emotional damage? Intellectual? Were his sleeping patterns altered? Eating habits? Does this explain his occasional bouts of depression? His insomnia? Nightmares?”

Jim grimaced at each educated guess, each question fired one after the other like he should’ve expected from as great a doctor as Bones.

His headache became damn close to a migraine.

“It has done...enough,” Spock said quietly.

Bones narrowed his gaze on Jim. “Will he need a Vulcan healer?”

Spock watched Jim, eyes guarded, expression closed.

Jim’s breath caught.

“Yes,” Spock simply said.

The tension in the room fell over him like a thick blanket, suffocating him.

His hands began to shake.

He could hardly breathe.

Spock had said nothing about a healer.

Nothing.

 _Fuck_.

“Jim, go to your room and pack,” Bones said flatly. “We leave for Starfleet General in thirty minutes.”

Jim lurched back, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Leave? For what? The hospital?”

That only meant one thing. But Bones wouldn’t do that to him, would he? Not tonight.

“Yes, the hospital, where you’ll be admitted,” Bones said without missing a beat, “and immediately undergo your next injection therapy.”

Sweat beaded his forehead. Injections? So soon?

No.

 _No_.

This couldn’t be right.

He _wouldn’t_.

He couldn’t bear the thought of them. Dealing with their effects. Losing his _mind_. Losing control of his bladder. Losing his dignity. Losing... _everything_.

He wrapped his arms around himself, shielding himself from Bones, and vehemently shook his head. “No,” he said, refusing to accept it.

“Yes,” Bones said quietly.

He hugged himself as tightly as possible. “No,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes.”

“ _No_.” He dug his fingers into his skin until it hurt. “I’ll...I’ll be fine. Fine for a few days, at least, right?”

“No, you won’t be,” Bones said darkly. “That’s not how it works.”

Without warning, a cough swelled in his chest. He easily succumbed to it, his body shaking with a force so hard that he could’ve sworn he’d broken a rib. Hands touched his shoulders and pushed him into a chair, and when he looked up, he saw it was not Bones—but Jocelyn.

She’d stopped crying and was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.

He hunched his shoulders, the cough more than he could take. She rubbed his back until it subsided.

Bones stood apart the entire time.

Jocelyn lifted a glass of water to his lips. “Here...Jim.” she said, voice thin. “This might help.”

He sipped, and although the liquid hurt going down his raw throat, he hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been. “Thank you,” he breathed, gingerly touching his side.

“You’re not fine, Jim,” Bones said, his eyes narrowing on Jim’s side. “Clearly, _you_ are not fine!”

“I...I am.” He swallowed, too frightened by his expression to move. “It’s just a damn cough. A cold.”

“It’s going be more than a cold—”

But couldn’t face this. Not tonight. Maybe...never.

He shook his head. “I’m not going.”

“There’s no challenging me on this, Jim,” Bones countered. “Wait in your room until I can arrange for a transport.”

He blinked at him, every part of him screaming that this wasn’t happening to him. “No,” he whispered. “I can refuse treatment, can’t I? It’s my right.”

Bones stepped forward—everything about his posture, the fury in his eyes, the snarl on his face—demanding his obedience. “Go. To. Your. _Room_.”

Stunned, Jim stood despite his aching side—and backed up. Right into Jocelyn. He dropped his arms. “But—”

She gently gripped his arms from behind, offering him comfort again, in this strange reversal of circumstances.

Bones’s jaw clenched. “I’ll take a look at your ribs as soon as...as...” But he didn't finish. His eyes filled with more hurt than Jim ever expected to see, his eyes brimming with tears. “Dammit, Jim.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered guiltily. “Bones, I’m sorry.”

The doctor abruptly turned his back to them all. His head hung low as he braced himself with his arms against the wall. “Goddammit, Jim,” he repeated hoarsely.

“Bones—”

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones croaked in a wrecked voice, barely looking over his shoulder at him. “Stop arguing with me and do as I say. After all we've been through, I deserve...I deserve at least that much respect from you.”

The plea for respect gutted him. He sagged in guilt, would have pitched to the side had it not been for Jocelyn’s arms holding him up. He didn't feel right. He felt...dazed.

Like he was watching himself from the outside of the glass this time, looking in.

It was a horrible, horrible feeling.

“Let’s go, Jim,” Jocelyn murmured. ”I’ll walk with you to your room.”

He nodded absently, and though he could hardly understand what she was doing—or why she was doing it—she comforted him and guided him with her smooth movements and quiet voice the entire way.

 

oOo

 

McCoy didn’t know how long he stood facing the wall after he sent Jim to his room to wait for him. He was lost in his thoughts. Incapable of even calling for the damn transport. Drowning in self pity. Dumbfounded that Jim had kept this from him for as long as he had. Trying to understand what Spock was explaining to him, that the meld that had gone… _wrong_...at least for Jim. That Spock had revealed this in his deep concern for their Captain’s health.

It was enough time for Jocelyn to have taken Jim to his room and return.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” she huffed from behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered, his head dropping more and sagging to his chest.

He’d been sucker-punched. By the man he loved.

“You’ve put me through hell, Joce. Jim and Spock, too, for that matter.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m...I’m truly sorry.”

He turned around and faced her. “You have no right to...to…”

“To what?” She laughed shakily. “To apologize? Make amends? Help him? Help you? When you can’t even see straight?’

“I can see just fine,” he said curtly.

“I know you better than most, Len. Even as your ex-wife. You’re seeing through your hurt, Len,” she corrected him, crossing her arms across her chest and hugging herself. “Like I did.”

“She is correct, Leonard,” Spock agreed quietly. “You must take a moment to regain your perspective.”

He scowled. “I need more than a damn moment.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I would, too. But don’t take too long.”

She stared at him like she actually cared. He didn't know what to think about her, either.

“Do you realize that this changes everything? That I have months and months of files to go through? Jim’s medical files?” he asked them, his hurt almost too much to bear. “To make sense of his symptoms over time? Not only that, but I have to find the right healer and convince them to come here to help him? While he’s receiving drug therapy? Do you realize how even more difficult this is going to be on him?”

“I don’t understand all of what just happened but I do know that Jim Kirk is not a selfish person,” she said quietly. “He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her reprimand reminded him that Jim was hurting, too. “How is he?” he asked her hoarsely.

“He's not... _well_ ,” she said. “And he needs you.”

McCoy was worried that he didn’t actually want him.

Jojo rushed in, tears streaming down her face. “Uncle Jim is gone!”

McCoy knelt beside her, looking her directly into her eyes. “What do you mean, Jojo?”

She gulped, her chest heaving. “I snuck into his room when Mommy was talking with Nana! But he wasn't there!”

McCoy glanced back at Spock.

“I've...I've looked everywhere,” Jojo wailed.

Spock immediately strode out of the dining room and down the hall. McCoy chased after him, catching up to his long strides.

They rushed into Jim's room and scanned the room, every surface area, every nook and cranny, searching for a sign as to where he’d gone. Jim’s PADD was missing. He couldn’t believe their luck when he saw Jim’s comm, discarded on the floor, hidden by one of his slippers. It could possibly give them a clue as to where to find him.

He reached down and picked it up, immediately scrolling his recent comm list.

“He commed three cab companies,” McCoy muttered, silently reading. Had he done that—and left his comm—to confuse them? “How did he even leave the property without the police noticing?”

He handed the device to Spock, who looked at the call log, as well.

“He could have asked them to meet him a block or two away,” Jocelyn said, coming into the room. “This side of the house is shadowed by the trees, making it easier for him to hide and leave unnoticed.”

He frowned. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Not this early in his recuperation.

“I will leave at once,” Spock murmured. “Chief Larrett must also be alerted, in the possibility that this is related to Treadway’s disappearance.”

McCoy’s heart lurched. This couldn't possibly be Treadway’s doing, could it? “Jim left of his own accord. There’s no indication of any struggle,” he protested.

“I fear it is a possibility,” Spock said.

“I’ll come with you,” he said decisively. “There’s no question that Jim is pushing himself running off like this. I don’t know what his physical or mental condition will be when we find him.”

Spock’s brow creased. “Is any of his luggage missing?” he asked, indicating with his head to the one bag on the floor by the open closet.

His heart beat heavily as he rummaged for his luggage in the closet. “Only his duffel bag is gone. Think he left for the hospital?”

“Perhaps,” Spock said. “Or a nearby hotel.”

“Maybe we can still find him, before he hurts himself,” McCoy said, swallowing. “Is he blocking us?”

Spock’s eyes flickered with emotion. “Yes. It is unfortunate,” he said, walking out of the room, McCoy and Jocelyn closely following.

“He’s gone?” Nora called in a worried voice from the end of the hall.

McCoy tamped down as much anxiety as possible. He didn't want his mother or Jojo to worry unnecessarily. “Yes. He left. He could be headed for San Francisco on his own—or another place to stay for the night.”

If they were lucky, that’s what he had done…

How could they find him if he decided, irrationally, to stop the treatments and head somewhere else entirely?

“It's storming again,” Nora said. “I don't like the idea of him out in this weather in his weakened condition.”

McCoy didn't, either. He hated the thought of Jim developing pneumonia. Aggravating any of his symptoms.

Joanna pressed against Nora’s hip, her eyes glistening with tears. “Daddy, please find Uncle Jim. I’m scared.”

“We’ll find him, baby,” Jocelyn said softly.

McCoy turned to her, scowling. “We?”

She lifted her chin. “You need all the help you can get.”

“And Jojo?” he countered, not wanting their daughter to be scared even more by their absence.

“We’ll be fine,” Nora assured him softly. “Go.”

Spock nodded. “I will comm Larrett, then inform you of where we should look for him.”

“I'll be waiting,” McCoy confirmed. “Until then, I’ll head downtown, towards the public transport system. He might be planning on taking a hoverbus to wherever it is that he's going.”

Spock left, leaving McCoy and Jocelyn alone. She stared at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak.

He had nothing to say to her.

“I need to pack a few things,” he said hotly, excusing himself from her presence.

She had the audacity to follow him back into Jim’s room, where he grabbed medical supplies for every possible scenario he could think of.

“What did you mean, asking Mr. Spock if he is blocking you?” Jocelyn asked.

“We have a bond,” McCoy explained, also grabbing Jim’s coat from the closet. He stuffed it in a bag to keep it dry.

“A bond?” she echoed.

“A familial bond that was recently formed—by accident.”

“Oh,” she said. “I bet you just love that.”

It irritated him that she knew him that well. “If you're asking if it bothered me, it did,” he snapped. “At first. Now, however, it would come in handy if Jim wasn't so damn stubborn.”

“Like you?”

He ignored her and hurried to the front door. He grabbed his own coat from a hook on the wall, slipping it on. He reached for his keys which were lying on the hall stand.

She grabbed the keys before he could. “Let me drive.”

He hesitated. It didn’t make any sense to him that his ex-wife wanted to help them. Or that she now seemed more concerned about his boyfriend's disappearance than that of her fiance.

She rolled her eyes in a mannerism that was all too familiar to him. “We have no time for this.”

He looked at her in suspicion. “Why do you want to help?”

“Because you drive like an old man,” she retorted. “You couldn’t drive fast enough, not even if a dozen Klingons were on your trail.”

He opened his mouth to argue with her—but then realized she was right. She could drive crazier than anyone. Than him. _Especially_ him.

His mouth snapped shut.

“Besides, it will be easier for you to talk on the comm with Spock,” she added.

He nodded, and grabbed the umbrella. “Fine,” he said curtly, chagrined that he had to agree with her.

They hurried out of the house and down the steps. Discovering that it was pouring, McCoy held the umbrella over her head the entire way.

By the time they made it to the car, he was soaking wet, even with a coat. He continued to hold the umbrella for her, as the driver’s door slid open.

“We’ll find him,” she said, still standing.

He was at a loss for words. “Maybe.”

She gave him a tight smile. “We wi—”

A force like none other slammed into his head.

“Agh,” he groaned.

The umbrella fell from his grip and onto the wet pavement, discarded.

He clutched his skull, sagging against the hovercraft.

“Len,” Jocelyn cried. “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer her.

He dug his fingers into his scalp, a low whine escaping from his throat.

“Oh, God. Len!”

He curled into himself, willing the force to go away.

Willing the fire burning in his brain to stop.

All he could feel was pain.

All he could sense was Jim.

_All he could sense was Jim._

“Ji-immm,” he groaned.

_What was wrong with Ji—_

He dropped to the ground.

Helpless.

His mind and body overcome.

“LEN!” Jocelyn screamed.

It was the last thing he heard before all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I couldn't help but make a reference to A Few Good Men in this one. ;)
> 
> Junker5, diamondblue4, and plumeria47 - hugs you all. Thank you for editing this (mega) chapter! I greatly appreciate the work you put in, keeping me on track.
> 
> I'd absolutely LOVE to hear what you think! Please, review?


	16. I've walked miles in your shoes (but nothing will change my course)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I’m back and ready to get this story moving again! I’m so sorry that it’s been so long since the last update. Hopefully, the holiday ‘sequel’ that I posted in December made up for my absence at least a little bit. I was finally able to get in the proper headspace to write this chapter, and I’m working on the next one, too. I have several WIPS, but will write a few more chapters for this one first before continuing with my ‘rotation.’
> 
> Thank you to plumeria47, junker5, and diamondblue4 for ALL of the work you’ve done helping me with this chapter and the story in general. Your edits, suggestions, and encouragement have made all the difference! Hugs!
> 
> This chapter backtracks a bit, and I’ll need the next chapter, also, to catch us up to where we left off with McCoy, down on the ground and in pain. This chapter begins with Jim’s POV, when Jocelyn is walking him back to his room.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, irrational Jim, Implied Sexual Child Abuse, Verbal Abuse, and one more (possibly triggery) warning that will be posted in the endnotes because it would be a huge spoiler if I put it here. If you’re easily triggered by things in fic, please look there first.

 

Jocelyn was so tender with Jim as she escorted him to his bedroom that, as crazy as it sounded, he’d thought Nora had taken him by the arm, instead. Just for a moment.

Jocelyn had never warmed up to him, had obviously disliked him from the first day they’d met years ago. Occasionally, she had acted spiteful towards Bones even before the recent custody issue. But she’d raised Joanna, hadn’t she? A bright and compassionate little girl. She couldn’t be all that bad. Maybe the meld with Spock, combined with cutting ties with Treadway, had drawn out her gentler side. The side she must show to Jojo, and perhaps had shown to Treadway. And maybe even to Bones, a long, long time ago.

Not that it mattered now. At least to him. He had enough problems ahead of him than to concern himself with Bones’s ex-wife.

His life was surreal, had been for the past two months. Bones’s words had done nothing to help the out-of-body experience he’d been having ever since he’d opened his eyes after the warp core, discovering that he’d been dead, that he’d missed Pike’s funeral. He felt himself sinking into a stupor. Any other time and he would’ve balked at Jocelyn doing this for him. Now, he did nothing to stop her. He didn’t feel up to navigating Nora’s house on his own, anyway. Everything around him looked like a blur, or in a haze, in a figurative sense. He wasn’t seeing anything clearly.

He stopped just inside his bedroom door, almost blocking Jocelyn’s way in, but unaware that he did so. As he stared at the wall ahead of him, which became nothing more than a dark blob in his sight, she slipped past him and tugged on his arm, encouraging him to move again.

He hardly noticed he was even sitting on the bed until she placed her hand on his shoulder. “Do you need a blanket? Water? Anything?” she asked.

He thought for a second, then shook his head. He would much rather be alone when he cracked. And that, he was certain, would be at any time.

She looked him over with a critical eye. “Are you sure?”

He looked down at his hands, which had not stopped shaking, wishing that he was well again. Was that too much to ask?

“Jim?”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head slowly to look at her, this woman who’d glared at him like he was a bug she wanted to squash just days ago.

Her eyes softened, the look taking him by surprise. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I’m good.”

The words sounded hollow.

He was far, far from being ‘good.’

“Okay,” she murmured, but she didn’t look convinced. “I’ll be back soon to check on you.”

“Thank you,” he said, remembering his manners.

“It’s the least I can do.”

The door shut behind her, and that noise alone woke him up.

Sent to his room? Sent to bed? Forced to wait?

Dammit, this wasn’t him. This coddling. This treatment like he was going to break. Not even from Bones. Especially not from Bones’s ex-wife.

But he’d be lying if he said he never loved it when Bones gave him that extra attention...

A thought that immediately enveloped his heart with grief.

He swallowed, running his hands over his face. Even though it was stupid to think that Bones would check on him, instead of his ex-wife, he couldn't help but hope for it to happen.

Since when was Jocelyn his ally?

Since when was Bones his enemy?

He looked around his room in despair, feeling Bones’s disappointment and disgust like a thick, wet blanket falling over him. Suffocating him but, at the same time, pulling him back.

He couldn’t stay here. This room already held too many memories of Bones to make it a haven or safe place. They’d kissed in the attached bathroom. They’d kissed here on the bed. They’d more or less declared their love for each other here, too.

He stood, shaking and uncertain, until he thought of Bones’s room. He could go there. He’d rather go there. Yes, it was Bones’s room, but there wasn’t much up on the second floor that reminded him of _them_ , if anything. Just Bones. Not like that was much better.

But, still, it could be better than this, where his memory of Bones was the most gentle. The most perfect.

He only had one problem. He’d barely made it downstairs. How could he make it upstairs?

Restless and wanting a place where he could curl up and block out the rest of the world, he chose to put more distance between him and everyone he’d left behind in the dining room. A decision completely opposite of what Bones probably expected him to do. Sit on the bed. Do nothing. Wait for the doctor to make every single decision in his goddamn life from now on.

His comm started to ring beside him on the stand, a rude sound that hurt his ears. He didn’t even glance at it, choosing to ignore the call. Bones probably didn’t want him talking to anyone, anyway, especially if it was someone from Starfleet. He didn’t care to add more stress to his day, either.

He made his way to the door and out into the hallway, closing the door behind him and shutting out the annoying ring. Looking in both directions, he quickly determined there was no one else around and headed for the stairway.

He padded to the steps like an old man, feeling the effects of his cold, of everything else that was against him, and began his ascent. He tried purging the ugly encounter with his best friend from his mind, but he couldn’t. He tried to convince himself that Bones only had his best interest at heart, but he couldn’t. He tried to focus on getting through the next wave of injections, but he couldn’t.

If only he’d stayed in Bones’s room before making the brash decision to head downstairs, preventing the disastrous chain reaction of conflicting emotions it had caused. Bones’s curt orders and accusations had found their mark, dead center. While walking with Jocelyn, they’d reverberated in his ears like the doctor was in the here and now instead of in the past and in the other room. The recent past simply hurt. As his eyes burned from his cold, and maybe fresh tears, he relived the hurtful exchange over and over, like an endless scene in a movie, recurring in slow motion.

He sagged against the handrail half-way up the stairs, momentarily giving up his fight. His throat ached like when he’d woken up from his nap, and now his ears ached, too. Both symptoms worsening as began coughing. He coughed until his ribs screamed in protest, and even then it didn’t stop until another minute.

_Fuck this cold._

After wiping the sweat off his brow, and his nose with his sleeve, he dragged himself forward. Up a step, then another, until he stopped again. He wavered on his feet, miserable. He squinted down at the floor, now doubting what he was doing. Trying to go up the stairs again? For space?

Would he even make it?

He clung to the handrail with his limited strength, the top of the steps becoming a distant hope. He had to make it. He had to get away from Bones—from all of them—and try to clear his head. He didn’t want them to find him here, stuck like some pathetic invalid on the stairs. He thought it was strange that Bones seemed to have forgotten that the stairs would be available for Jim to use, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d get there, to the top. Eventually. And all by himself, dependent on no one.

With renewed determination, he narrowed his gaze on the top of the stairs but was hit with a wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes as his body swayed.

He groaned. “Shit,” he breathed.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the rail, but only for a second. He doubled over, letting go of the railing and slipping to the step, nearly sliding back down the steps had it not been for the rug creating enough friction to stop him.

Panting, he gulped a breath and rose to his hands and knees, his limbs shaking beneath him under his own weight.

_Come on, Kirk._

Gritting his teeth, he inched himself upward, resorting to crawling up the rest of the stairs on his hands and knees like a small child. His best friend’s words haunted him with every movement, much like Frank’s did whenever doubts crept up behind him and bit him in the ass. Doubts that these relationships he’d formed over the years, as a fucked up, genius repeat-offender, would even last.

Proving what Frank had told him long ago.

Frank hadn't been eloquent in his speech except for when he was drunk, ironically, the words spilling from his lips faster than Jim could understand them as a young child. But now, as an adult, he understood them all too well.

_Think that grade’s gonna prove you’re somethin’ to me? You’re trash, Sonny Boy._

_One day you’ll end up like me, left with a dumb kid and a bottle of beer. You’ll have no business having a normal life like other people._

_We ain't normal, Sonny Boy._

_In the end, ‘s’not worth it. You’re always gonna get hurt. Even a hero’s little brat._

_Take a good look at me, ya hear? You’re always gonna be alone, Sonny Boy. Get used to it._

_Alone, Sonny Boy. Nursin’ a worthless heart with booze or sex or drugs. Jus’ you wait and see._

The mere thought of the bastard’s name made him cringe, the nickname Frank had given him in the dead of night, when the older man had stolen into his bed and carded his dirty hands through Jim’s blonde hair, more revolting than anything in the world.

But those weren’t the only things that caused him feel this hellish cycle of emotions. The guilt he harbored from simply surviving through the years, suffering Frank’s abuse, welled up in his chest. His mind was pulled into his past in Iowa, insecurities returned, looking to attack his most vulnerable places.

_Unworthy._

_Unlovable._

_Alone._

All of which had been laid bare thanks to Bones. He knew, deep down, that Bones wasn’t Frank. In no way was he near to being the type of man Frank had been.

But he felt himself slipping, weakening for a moment, allowing Bones’s words to strike his heart like Frank’s had.

It was easy to do. He _had_ ended up on his own. Like Frank.

There seemed to be only one solution to his problems now. Running away. Ignoring them. But even that was an uncertainty. He wasn't stupid enough to just leave.

He’d probably _die_.

It seemed as if he was stuck in his own no-win scenario.

Maybe Frank had had the best idea, after all. Never getting too close to anyone. Too bad he hadn’t been smart enough to think about it before he’d boarded that damn shuttle, he thought bitterly.

He continued his struggle, panting for breath by the time he reached the top, and practically dragged himself over the last step.

He’d made it. He’d fucking made it. He sat, leaning against the wall, allowing himself to give into the numbness again as he rested.

He didn’t see Bones forgiving him for lying about Delta Vega all these years any time soon. If anything, their friendship….the love they’d recently found...had taken a serious hit. A break that might never be repaired.

_Jus’ you wait and see._

Frank’s words resonated with him, and it wasn’t for the first time.

Everything he’d done had been for the love of his crew.

What good was it now, when Bones was going to take it all away from him...again?

He’d died saving his crew, and Bones had revived him, stealing his honorable death from him right from under his nose. He’d stuffed everything inside after Delta Vega to protect the ones he loved, and Bones was going to make him spill his darkest secrets to a stranger. Stealing it away from him—again.

All this time he’d thought it’d been for the best, not for the worst. Where had he gone wrong?

 _Had_ he gone wrong?

He’d thought he’d been sparing Bones and the rest of his friends from his continuing pain. From the harsher truths that he alone had wanted to bear. He’d thought he’d been sparing Selek, a man who was lost in a world so different yet achingly similar to the one in which he’d lived, from the backlash he might receive after Bones or another medical professional learned of the meld.

He’d never said a word about the meld for those reasons, but also for reasons he didn’t quite understand but suspected had to do with his brain being fucked up on that damned ice planet. Images of a more stable Jim Kirk, of a different life, were memories he’d never wanted to share, with anyone. They were his and his alone.

If he’d told Bones the truth, that ever since he’d claimed those strange memories as his that he’d tortured himself with them for no good reason, would they ever mean the same to him again?

And if he told him, would they even be his anymore?

This other life would most likely be torn from his grasp by either medication or a psychiatrist or a healer.

He’d lose it. All of it.

Probably wouldn’t even remember that he’d _had_ a meld by the time they were done with him. But Spock and Bones would.

That thought alone was so fucked up he couldn’t help but shiver.

He’d lose his will to do better. His daydreams of a father who was there. The memory of the planet, Vulcan, intact. The destruction of Vulcan that made him cry into his pillow and at the same time want to be a better friend to Spock. The beauty of a crew whose friendships surpassed his dreams.

_All of it._

Wouldn't he?

He had depended so much on that glimpse into the other him that he was used to it by now. Trusting it without giving it a second thought, even using it to justify his current choices and how he commanded his ship.

That glimpse into Selek’s world had influenced him in ways—that maybe he didn’t even want to know.

 _Ever_.

He supposed, swallowing a new lump in his throat, that it showed just how dependent he was on all of the pain and suffering he’d endured in his life. From an early age, he’d used his shitty childhood as an excuse to lie, cheat, and steal. And now he used—was using—a different pain and suffering to do other things. Laid bare, they all knew how twisted up he was inside, bordering on being dysfunctional, especially when they’d threatened to take it away from him in a blink of an eye.

If Spock was serious about him needing a Vulcan healer, and Bones accepting of it, he’d have to accept the help once he was admitted into the hospital, whether he wanted to or not.

And once there, would they purge his mind of that meld? Was that even possible?

One thing was for sure, he didn’t know if he could endure the ride back to San Francisco sitting next to his best friend who now, at best, hated him.

He didn’t know if he _wanted_ to endure it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to continue with the therapy, as illogical as that thought was.

He didn’t know if Bones’s treatment was the answer to getting better, after all, at least in one piece.

He didn’t know if he could trust anyone but himself. Because, clearly, it _had_ been better to keep those secrets to himself. Their reactions had proved it.

With time, he was sure that these side effects he continued to experience would diminish, especially when he was able to finally put dying behind him.

Not that anyone would even listen to him and his logical reasoning. It was clear no one was willing to give him a chance to try things his way, or accept that sometimes he simply had to make these difficult decisions and that was all there was to it.

No one was in his court. Not really.

No one.

He gritted his teeth in renewed determination and pushed his back into the wall, using it to help himself to his feet. Hugging the wall, he made his way to Bones’s bedroom. The door was still open, just like he’d left it, and his PADD was untouched.

He frowned, taking a second look at the device when he saw the green light, flickering on and off.

An incoming video call.

“Not now,” he muttered.

Those usually meant an urgent message from the admiralty. Given that his comm had been ringing in his bedroom, it had to be.

 _Dammit_. Resigned, he grabbed the device, connecting that video call without glancing at the caller’s ID.

He wished he had the instant the face appeared on the screen.

“Treadway,” he said, blinking in slow recognition.

“You don't look so good, Captain Kirk. Maybe even worse than the last time I saw you.”

“How’d you get this number?” he demanded to know.

Treadway’s eyes grew colder, then his face suddenly disappeared from the screen.

In place of it was what looked like live footage, though he couldn’t be sure, of Christine and Dr. Marcus in an apartment but as if he was looking from the outside through a window. Dr. Marcus sat on a couch, drinking from a floral teacup. Christine carried a stack of PADDS to the coffee table, then took a seat in a chair. Her gaze drifted to the window, as if she was staring straight at Jim, but didn’t know it.

His heart dropped.

“They look comfortable, don’t they?” Treadway asked. “At least for now. My associate is keeping tabs on them, ready to shoot on my command.”

“What have you done?” Jim whispered hoarsely.

“Exactly what I needed to do to slip into the dark again, with your help, of course,” Treadway said as his face filled the screen.

Jim knew, then, that his life had taken a drastic turn. Treadway had upped the stakes, possibly putting these two women’s lives in danger. And, maybe even his.

He swallowed. “You're lying to yourself if you think I’m going to help you evade the law.”

“At the cost of Nurse Chapel and Dr. Marcus? Both former crew members?”

“I don’t even know if this is live feed,” Jim said, easing the worry from his face with a smooth smile he’d used a hundred times before.

“I can rectify that.”

The screen split in half. On the left was Treadway, the right, the apartment.

“ _Boss?” a_ man off screen asked. “ _This view still okay?”_

“It’s perfect,” Treadways drawled.

As Jim watched the women go about their lives so quietly inside their apartment his chest tightened painfully. He didn’t even know what, exactly, Treadway wanted from him but he felt trapped by the ex-boxer already. “They’re innocent in all of this,” Jim pleaded. “Please don't hurt them.”

Treadway lifted his comm, his look piercing and confident. “I won’t...if you cooperate. Just...a minute.” He typed into the comm, then held Jim’s gaze while a comm beeped in the women’s apartment. “And don’t worry, Kirk, I’ll put it on speaker.”

Jim didn’t know who to watch. Splitting his attention did not seem right, but neither did focusing his attention on one side.

“ _Hello? Who is this?”_ Christine demanded as she picked up.

Treadway was silent, his lips curving into a mocking smile as Jim’s gaze flickered from him to Christine.

“ _Hello?”_ Christine asked. She waited a beat, then tried again. “ _Who’s there?”_

Carol lifted her head, straightening in her seat, alarm flashing across her face, the same expression on her face that he’d witnessed when she realized her father’s intentions—to destroy the Enterprise.

Christine closed her eyes. “ _Leave us alone,”_ she whispered. “ _You’ve had your fun. There’s a cop right out—”_

Treadway cut the connection and cocked his head at Jim.

But his attention was on Christine, who held the comm away from her ear, her hand shaking as she stared down at it.

Dr. Marcus rose to her feet and limped over to Christine, without her cane. Her face was pale as she took the comm from her friend’s hands and spoke to her, but Jim could not hear what she said.

While he was still trying to read Carol’s lips, the scene faded out, leaving only Treadway.

“I hope you make this as easy as possible, Kirk,” Treadway said. “Listen to my instructions, and no one will get hurt.”

His anger flared. “What do you want from me?”

“Well, since it’s obvious that I lost my fiancée, I’ll take the next best thing. Money.”

He’d thought as much. “Enough for a long vacation, I presume?”

Treadway’s smile gleamed with teeth. “You catch on real quick. Now, let’s see if you can hand over 500,000 credits just as fast. Half transferred to my account, the rest cash. I'll send you my information.”

He barely held back his shock, though he had that much, and more. He’d never spent the money he’d received as ‘the child George Kirk had left behind,’ but he also saved more than he spent as a captain. Wanting to save it for a rainy day.

Some rainy day this had turned out to be…

“That’s all?” he asked in a bored tone.

Treadway chuckled. “I went for a more...modest sum.”

“I’ll need time. I don’t want to draw suspicion. I’ll have to get it from several banks.” He thought quickly. “I’ll have to withdraw some from a branch downtown.” Anything to stall, give Bones and Spock more time to find him once he left the house.

“You have half an hour. Tell no one, Kirk. You know what will happen if you do.”

“Half an hour?” he asked in raw disbelief. “You saw me. I’m a sick man. You can hardly expect me to—”

“The clock is ticking, Kirk.”

He hesitated, stalling as he developed his plan. “Meet me there, near the bank, at least.”

“Where is it?”

“Close to The Book Heart, the bookstore Jojo likes that’s down—”

“I know where it is,” Treadway cut in sharply.

“That makes it easy, then. In fact, let’s meet at the bookstore,” he said, hoping there actually _was_ a bank on that street. “I’d like to get...coffee. And maybe pull up a chair. Unlike you, a man who used to fight for hard cash, I really haven’t been out all that much lately. Just to the front porch, but you know that already, don’t you?”

Treadway stared at him for a moment, long enough for him to doubt that there was a bank located near there, after all.

And his own sanity for going along with this, though he had no choice in the matter.

 _Fuck_.

“You’re quite the smartass, aren’t you, Kirk?” Treadway finally said.

“One of my more loveable traits,” he said with a shrug, belying the rage he felt rising in his chest that someone like Treadway had threatened his crew.

“Not sure I like meeting you there, but you do have a point. You look like hell warmed over, and I’m pretty sure the trip alone in this storm won’t help. You’re down to twenty-nine minutes.”

 _Impossible_.

How the hell was he going to walk out the front door without anyone noticing him and drive downtown in his poor physical state in a half hour? How could anyone? “Twenty-nine minutes?” He couldn't help but laugh. “You’re fucking cra—”

“Tell no one,” Treadway interrupted, low and menacing, and catching him off guard.

The screen faded to black.

 

oOo

 

Matthew tilted his head back and stared at the large bookcase near the middle of his store that still needed several shelves filled.

“I could have finished that,” said the young man coming up to him.

Matthew smiled and shook his head at his newest employee, Stanton. The young man was studying to become a doctor, working here when he could, and had shown great interest in the state of his ‘leg’ once he’d learned that Matthew had lost it years ago. “I’d rather be back here tonight. Something about the rain on the roof that’s calming.”

“If you say so, sir,” Stanton looked at him doubtfully.

He took a treasury of Tennyson’s poetry off of the cart beside him, handling it with care. This was no ordinary book, but a beautiful antique with gilded pages. It would go behind the glass doors to be seen, not touched. “I do. How about you make sure our customers have a warm cup of hot chocolate on the house?”

There were very few customers tonight, the storm driving them away in droves.

Stantons’ brows raised. “Of course, sir. I’m sure they’d appreciate that tonight,” he said and hurried away to the front of the bookstore.

Alone once more, Matthew placed the books on the shelf at his own, slow pace. It was a lot of work for one man, but he had received a message from his stepfather earlier. He’d needed something to get his mind off of it.

He hadn’t bothered to read the message, assuming it had been a mistake. His stepfather never talked to him.

That was why, when he heard the surreal sound of the footsteps behind him, his hand froze in mid-air. He knew it was his stepfather before he even turned around. He smelled the cologne he remembered him wearing after he’d graduated from high school. Felt the calculating gaze sweeping over him just to check the status of his leg like he used to do. Heard the sigh that was no doubt meant for him, and the time he was taking to greet him.

He lowered his hand, returning the book to the cart. “What do you want, Dad?” Matthew asked, unsure as to why he didn’t just call him by his first name, Peter.

It wasn’t like there was any love existing between them.

“You didn’t answer my message,” Peter accused.

“Didn’t check it.” He calmly pushed the books in place, lining them up perfectly, then stepped back to survey his work. It had taken him most of the afternoon because of the ache in his leg, thanks to the rain, and the phantom pains he still endured. But the result was one he was proud of. He’d rearranged the poetry section just like he’d envisioned a week ago.

“Your mother’s ill and in the hospital,” his stepfather continued, in his usual stiff manner.

Matthew turned around, not wanting to meet the other man’s gaze. But knowing Peter would respect him even less if he didn’t, he raised his eyes.

Peter’s gaze was as cool as over.

“How ill?” Matthew asked, worry stirring in his gut.

“She will live.”

He wilted inside, like he usually did, whenever his stepfather spoke so casually of his mother, a kind, gentle woman. Much like he remembered Eleanora McCoy to be years ago, on those rare occasions when she’d get together with his mother at their house for lunch, to discuss their gardens.

He’d probably developed his crush on Jocelyn then, now that he thought about it.

“Which one?” he asked, suddenly too sickened to give Peter the courtesy of looking at him.

Peter’s gaze swept past him and to the poetry books, frowning. “You and your...hobby.”

“Which one?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“Atlanta Memorial,” Peter answered crisply.

Matthew’s mother had been more forgiving of him over his career choice, and they’d met several times, in secret. He’d visit her in a heartbeat, even if he had to stand outside her room. But he would not stand here and take this.

He turned back around, finding a random book’s edge to fix and realign. “I’ll be there. It’s raining pretty hard out there. Grab an umbrella on the way out, if you want. No charge.”

Not that he needed it to be free. His stepfather was one of the wealthiest men in the city.

So was he, for that matter, though nobody knew it.

“Be sure that you will.” Peter’s voice held no warmth, ignoring his generosity. “For her sake.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“Thank you for the... _offer_ ,” Peter said. There was no mistaking his disdain.

Once Matthew could no longer hear his stepfather’s retreating footsteps, he sank into a seat in a nearby chair, relieved he hadn't stayed longer.

After he had his own cup of hot chocolate, a sweet treat he rarely indulged in, he’d be on his way to the hospital. See his mother. Find out why she was sick, since Peter hadn’t even had the courtesy to explain it himself.

As the rain continued to pound the roof, he remembered, belatedly, and with great satisfaction, that they were fresh out of umbrellas.

 

oOo

 

Jim fought to catch his breath after Treadway cut the connection.

The entire world had crashed down onto his shoulders. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing because of it. Funny how your world appears to be over one minute, and then the next minute the shit really happens.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not for him. Or Bones. Or Spock.

He was being forced to act alone— _again_.

He sucked in a deep breath, his lungs desperate for air. He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts before his mind and body crumpled underneath him. He’d wanted to feel numb just minutes ago—and now? He had to save two women who’d already been through too much, especially Dr. Marcus. Losing her father. Injuring her leg. But Christine had been through a lot, too. Treadway had clearly gotten to her already. It hadn’t been difficult to see that the usually level-headed nurse was afraid, maybe even showing signs of PTSD from the way Carol had had to take the comm from her.

Maybe Treadway was bluffing, but maybe not. He couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t risk their lives. Neither could he take the chance that Treadway wouldn’t do this again, demanding more money from him in the future.

But most of all, he couldn’t chance that Bones and Spock would actually agree to let him meet Treadway if they knew anything about this.

There was nothing else to do but meet Treadway’s demands on his own. With any luck, Matthew, the owner of The Book Heart, would be there. Or someone else that would recognize their faces, in case things went south.

But he couldn’t even leave the house without some help.

Bones’s room was clean and tidy, except for the blue bag on the floor in the corner of the room, a bag that stuck out like a sore thumb. The white letters were printed on the side, as clear as day.

Starfleet General Hospital

It must have been delivered with the other medical supplies that Bones had wanted on hand as he treated Jim here in Atlanta.

There were bound to be more bags. And they certainly weren’t all stashed in the closet or in the corner of his own bedroom. Bones had admittedly asked for more than he needed, or so he’d told Jim.

His stomach flipped as an idea blossomed in his mind with startling clarity.

He moved towards the bag without thinking of the consequences and picked it up, bringing it over to the bed. His hands shaking as they had so many times before, he opened it and rummaged through the contents. Not sure what he was looking for, but looking for it, nonetheless. Not caring that it was Bones’s, and a medical doctor’s, at that, but considering it to be fair game.

Really, had Bones even given him a choice?

Had Treadway?

He wasn't stupid enough to believe that he would make it downtown let alone get to a hovercraft in the driveway in his sad physical state.

With a flicker of disappointment, he realized it contained nothing that would help him. He went over to the closet next. He looked in the back, first, where he found a digitally locked box with the same identifying label as the bags next to several pairs of shoes.

He blinked at the box several times, contemplating why it was locked, sweat slipping off his brow and into his eyes. He wiped at his face, absently realizing that he was growing overly warm in Bones’s sweater.

But the box was far more important. In fact, a gut feeling told him exactly what was in the box. There was only one reason why a medical box would be locked in this circumstance.

But he didn’t have the code. Bones did.

He sure as hell didn’t have time to guess.

He brought it over to the bed, set it down, and grabbed his PADD. Opening up a program he’d developed (illegally) years ago, he held the device up to the digital lock, connecting the two with a press of a button.

It had worked every other time he’d used it. It had to work with this, too.

Seconds later, the box opened. He didn’t even have to rummage through the contents this time. The words were there, right on top. The implications of using what was in these smaller packages slugged him with guilt, but he was beyond following protocol or doing what was legal, as an officer of Starfleet should.

Only one thing mattered. Saving two innocent lives by getting to the bookstore on his own two feet, unnoticed and on time.

After which, he didn’t give a damn what happened, certain that someone would see Treadway and go after his fresh trail.

His hands shaking, he pulled out one of the packages, fumbling as he opened it. He finally yanked the damn thing apart. A empty hypospray and a full vial fell out. Once the items were in his hands, he took a steadying breath.

Agrediphine.

Bones had discussed this very drug with him when he’d been discharged from SFG. It was a new drug Bones had had to fight tooth and nail to get access to. Like epinephrine, but more effective. Better. Stronger. A stimulant that would keep him alive and moving if his body started to fail during the drug treatment, when he was sitting in his apartment, and they needed to get him to the hospital before he suffered a fatal relapse. A stimulant that was highly addictive and restricted even in the worst of circumstances, given the harm it could inflict upon the body as one came down from its effects.

He could only imagine what it meant for him, a man who already had a cocktail of drugs in his blood, thanks to an aggressive drug therapy.

Surprisingly, he managed to transfer the liquid drug to the hypospray without any trouble. He looked at the hypospray, but only for a second.

He couldn't give it too much thought.

There was no turning back from this.

There was no easy way recovering from this, either.

There was simply nothing else that he could _do_ but this.

He grimaced in preparation for the looming pinch and whatever else was in store for him—and silently apologized to his best friend for what he was about to do.

With a stubborn lift of his chin, he injected the contents of the hypo into his neck. His eyes widened involuntarily, the drug immediately taking effect.

It was instant gratification, magnified a thousand times over.

Fuck, he...he hadn't expected _this_.

Euphoria swept through his body and ignited his senses. The world brightened until it was golden again, glowing more than he ever remembered.

His eyes were _open_.

The world was right again.

 _He_ was right again.

His limbs were loose, yet his body alert.

His muscles felt strong, unhindered by radiation or a weak immune system or a debilitating drug therapy.

He felt like he could take on the world.

He felt like he could take on...Treadway.

Gulping a breath, he moved so he could lean against the wall as he listened to his body. His hand shook even more than before as his body continued to adjust to the drug, and his mind, though emboldened and clear, barely kept a steady grip on the task ahead.

He grounded himself with the wall. The empty hypospray fell to the floor, slipping from his loose fingers. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall where he stood.

His breaths were short and quick, and a laugh escaped his lips.

“Shit,” he said, laughing again.

Damn, this felt good. Really good.

Like the orgasm he couldn’t even manage with Bones, let alone at his own hand, stuck in the middle of Bones’s hellish therapy. But going on forever.

He hadn’t felt a thrill even close to this in almost two months. In over two months. Maybe more.

He’d tried drugs once, the day he’d turned eighteen. It hadn’t been like this. Not even close.

This was beautiful.

This was dangerous.

This was stupid.

This was...what he'd dreamed of feeling since waking up from the dead. Feeling human.

This was _perfect_.

What the hell _was_ this stuff?

Christ, he already craved more.

But he shouldn't want more, right?

He carded a shaking hand through his hair. Bones would likely kill him now that he’d had one dose. With two...that was anyone’s guess. Maybe torture by the doctor's own hand, right before a gruesome death.

Yet, he really couldn't be sure that it would last through the next thirty minutes.

Opening his eyes, he tested his legs and with an assurance and confidence he'd lost along with Pike, returned to the medical box.

This would not be enough.

It was dark outside. Raining. He could hardly make it up or down the stairs. Treadway, a _boxer_.

He had to be sure.

Christine...Carol...the credits... _Bones_

Fuck, he was in a shitload of trouble, burying himself with more.

It seemed unlikely that he would ever get out from underneath it all.

He’d already wasted precious time debating the morality of his decision. With detectives right outside the house, he also had to “borrow” a neighbor’s hovercraft, maybe a hoverbike, if he could find one, which could quite possibly knock this out of the park in terms of right and wrong.

He tried to think about the lives of two crewman, perhaps the only thing that would ground him while he was under the influence of this euphoria. He grabbed two vials of epinephrine, one painkiller, a second dose of Agrediphine, and four empty hyposprays, his feet anxious to move.

He quickly chose one more drug from the selection to take before he escaped the house, just to be on the safe side, promising himself that he would stash the remaining three in the large pockets of his leather jacket to use for later. Like if he ran into trouble with Treadway.

More specifically, if the ex-boxer attacked him.

_He had to be sure._

He clenched his fingers around the second hypospray and brought it up to his neck.

This time, only somewhat regretfully, the effects already too alluring to think clearly about them or what he was doing.

“I’m sorry, Bones,” he still whispered—and plunged the contents into his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DRUG USE
> 
> Thank you for reading! I should have the next chapter ready later this week. Please, review? I’d love to hear from you. :)


	17. I'm one step closer (and two steps further away)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, guys, for your support! I'm grateful to everyone reading the story after all this time. :)
> 
> Plumeria47, junker5, and Diamondblue4 - you are amazing. Thank you for taking the time to edit and make comments on these chapters. Hugs!
> 
> Well, I'm technically still backtracking, though this chapter pretty much picks up from where we left off last chapter. The first scene is in Jocelyn’s POV. After she takes Jim to his room, she finds Nora, first, before returning to talk to McCoy in the dining room. So, you'll be reading part of a scene from Chapter 15, but in Jocelyn's POV instead of McCoy's. I really wanted to fill her character out more, plus give you some information you'd be lacking otherwise.
> 
> Spoiler warning posted in end notes.

 

Leaving Jim behind in his bedroom and no less traumatized by her ex-husband’s tirade, Jocelyn crossed her arms and tried to rub the chill from them. A chill that felt like someone had opened the front door and forgotten to close it, letting in the cold, damp air. But that hadn't happened. It could only be her conflicted emotions, mixed up and aggravated by the meld with Commander Spock.

But she wasn’t the only tormented being in this house. Had Leonard lost his mind, too, pushing Jim over the edge like that? Had Spock lost his own grip on reality, spilling Jim’s secret? Had _everyone_ lost their minds?

She didn’t regret her brash decision to meld with Commander Spock. If anything, it was the only silver lining in this mess she’d made for herself. For them. She only wished there were more silver linings, to spare Jim—and Leonard—more pain.

Her present concern for Jim wasn’t normal, the emotional transference from the meld already transforming her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and the horrors he’d survived. The death he’d overcome. His courage. His determination. This drug therapy that was horrible enough to make him wish that he didn’t really need it.

And with each thought of Jim, the distinct desire to help him overwhelmed her.

Contemplating this new sense of compassion she felt for the captain, as well as for Leonard, she didn’t speak for a long time once she found Nora in the small room off the kitchen. While the older woman knitted quietly in a rocking chair, she found a seat in a chair and pulled Joanna on her lap like her daughter was seven months old, not seven years old.

They sat there, not speaking to one another, for ten or fifteen minutes, maybe longer. She knew she looked a mess, her eyes red and worn from crying. It took her that long for her breathing to even out and to not feel like she was going to start crying again at the drop of a hat.

Unexpectedly, Nora smiled. It brightened the room but did nothing for the knots growing in Jocelyn's stomach.

“He’ll need you, my dear,” Nora said out of the blue, eyeing her carefully.

Jocelyn bit back a laugh. “Leonard? Hardly.”

“You know his faults.” Nora glanced down at her lap, returning to her knitting. “And you’ve never been afraid to call them out.”

She cringed. Nora was right. She always had thrown his faults, no matter how small they had been, back in his face. “I was too hard on him.”

“Perhaps,” Nora murmured, her eyes cast down. “But he wasn’t always easy to deal with, either.”

“I’m not sure I can make a difference,” she whispered, squeezing Joanna.

“Mommy!” Joanna complained.

She loosened her hold. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s worth a try,” Nora said. “They have too much history to let this break them apart.”

They had more than just history. They had what she’d always expected them of having, since the very first time she’d laid eyes on Jim, and saw the pride and affection in Leonard’s eyes when he’d introduced him to her.

It was the love that she used to receive, but had ruined. “When did they…?” She hesitated, not wanting to say the word ‘love’ in front of Joanna.

Nora smiled. “They figured it out not too long ago.”

She was happy for them. She truly was. “Will you watch over Joanna?”

Nora nodded. “Of course, dear. Joanna, why don’t you look for the blue yarn that I used for the neighbor’s baby blanket?”

Joanna slid off of Jocelyn’s lap. “I remember. That was so pretty, Nana,” she said, and went to the basket on the other side of Nora’s rocker.

But Jocelyn could not move. What if this shattered Leonard and Jim’s friendship? Their new love? What if Leonard never forgave her? She wouldn't blame him if he didn't. When it came down to it, all of this was her fault.

She gripped the arms of the chair, torturing herself by recalling the first time she’d met Clay. She’d been impressed by his strength and charisma, his ability to take care of her at first, but eventually that had faded and she'd grown lonelier with each passing day. Part of her had known Joanna would never warm up to him, and Clay to her. Yet she’d been too naive and needy to accept that Clay would never learn to even care for Joanna half as much as Leonard did.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Joanna slipping out of the room.

Nora hummed in the silence, a welcome sound that comforted for her. Whenever things were uncertain, Nora had a way about her that was calming. A trait she’d envied for years.

“Storms don’t last forever,” Nora murmured, her needles clicking. “No matter how hard the lightning strikes.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was far more than just lightning striking. “Did Leonard tell you what he did? For Jim?”

Nora shook her head, not looking up from her knitting. “He didn’t have to. I know what he did. It’s what men like Leonard do for their captains.”

Jocelyn sighed and got to her feet. “Wish me luck.”

The older woman glanced up at her. “He’ll need your tough love.”

She frowned. Did she still love Leonard? Is that what everyone thought of her? Did they believe that was the reason for clinging to an evil, selfish man? To hide her love for Leonard?

Nora’s knitting needles stilled. “Oh, I know you don’t love my son like you did. But, I don’t think what you once felt for Leonard will ever go away completely. It’s like an old wound. Healed, but you know it’s there. You still have a connection with him, though it’s different now. And that, my dear, gives you the freedom to do what someone else, even Commander Spock, cannot.”

“Tough love?” she repeated.

Nora’s smile blossomed. “He’s used to it. Every now and then I give him advice, whether he wants it or not.”

“Thank you, Nora.” She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “For not giving up on me.”

“You’re my granddaughter's mother.” Nora reached up and squeezed her hand. “And once a daughter-in-law, always a daughter.”

Jocelyn's throat thickened with emotion.

“Now, go,” Nora said. “Before he loses himself in that head of his.”

Jocelyn quickly obeyed and left, her heart pounding with uncertainty until she found Leonard in the same place she’d left him. Staring at the wall with his back to Spock—and her.

She squared her shoulders though Leonard could not see her. Nora was right. He needed her. “You shouldn’t be so hard on him.”

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered.

She walked closer, catching a glimpse of the side of his face. He looked more defeated than she’d ever seen him.

“You’ve put me through hell, Joce,” he gasped. “Jim and Spock, too, for that matter.”

She’d do anything to go back in time to fix it. To start over.

God, she wished she’d never met Clay Treadway.

She barely held back her tears. “I know,” she said weakly. “And I’m...I’m truly sorry.”

He spun around, his pain and anger directed at her.

And she deserved it.

Leonard's eyes were accusatory. “You have no right to...to…”

“To what?” She managed a shaking breath. “To apologize? Make amends? Help him? Help _you_? When you can’t even see straight?”

She could tell right away that her words had made him even angrier.

“I can see just fine,” he snapped.

Recalling Nora’s wisdom, she refused to back down. “I know you better than most, Len. Even as your ex-wife. You’re seeing through your hurt, Len.” Although she said that for his benefit, it hit close to home. She crossed her arms across her chest and hugged herself. “Like I did.”

“She is correct, Leonard,” Spock agreed, breaking his silence. “You must take a moment to regain your perspective.”

Leonard scowled. “I need more than a damn moment.”

“I know,” she said. “I would, too. But don’t take too long.”

She held his gaze, hoping that he’d see that she truly cared, maybe for the first time, about his best friend. And if he did, that she was willing to be a friend when he needed one the most.

“Do you realize that this changes everything? That I have months and months of files to go through? Jim’s medical files?” Leonard asked incredulously. “To make sense of his symptoms over time? Not only that, but I have to find the right healer and convince them to come here to help him? While he’s receiving drug therapy? Do you realize how even _more_ difficult this is going to be on him?”

A day ago, and she would have ignored every word he said, even laughed it off in his face. The cruel and selfish part of her unfairly using it to get back at him for his fault in their failing marriage.

But the meld had revealed a new world to her, one that was comprised of Spock, Kirk, and her ex-husband. She couldn’t ignore anything he said.

She was still struggling to fit all the pieces into it, this life she’d thought Leonard lived in Starfleet. Yet, she now understood enough to know that Leonard’s concerns were valid.

“I don’t understand all of what just happened but I do know that Jim Kirk is not a selfish person,” she cautioned him. “He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Leonard stared hard at her for a moment, as if judging her authenticity. “How is he?” he finally asked, his voice broken with emotion.

“He's not... _well_ ,” she said slowly. “And he needs _you_.”

Before she could challenge him to get over himself and see to Jim, Joanna ran into the room. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Uncle Jim is gone!” she cried.

Leonard went over to her and kneeled on the floor, gently grabbing her by her arms. “What do you mean, Jojo?”

She gulped a large breath. “I snuck into his room when Mommy was talking with Nana! But he wasn't there!”

Jocelyn’s heart dropped. Had Jim actually left? Was he truly that desperate to escape his drug therapy?

This changed _everything_. No matter what had happened.

Leonard glanced back at Spock, not her. The two men exchanged a glance, the Vulcan visibly concerned.

“I've...I've looked everywhere,” Jojo sobbed.

Spock moved like lightning. He was out of the room and down the hall before she could blink, Leonard racing after him.

Jocelyn grabbed her daughter’s hand. “Go find Nana, sweetie, while I talk to your father.”

Joanna nodded, but didn’t obey until after she brought her out into the hallway and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Once Joanna was out of sight, she took a deep breath and went to Jim’s bedroom. When she stepped in the doorway, Spock and Leonard were quietly speaking to one another.

Leonard stared down at a comm, most likely Jim’s. “How did he even leave the property without the police noticing?”

He handed the device to Spock, who scrolled through a list of numbers.

“This side of the house is shadowed by the trees,” Jocelyn offered. “Making it easier for him to hide and leave unnoticed.”

Leonard frowned at her. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Jocelyn wondered how he could underestimate Jim even in his condition. Even as an outsider who now knew their darkest secrets—including Leonard risking it all to save Jim—she knew that Jim Kirk could leave this house if he wanted to— _and_ go far.

“I will leave at once,” Spock murmured. “Chief Larrett must also be alerted, given the possibility that this is related to Treadway’s disappearance.”

Panic flashed across Leonard’s face. “Jim left of his own accord. There’s no indication of any struggle,” he protested.

“I fear it is a possibility.”

“I’ll come with you.” Leonard said, his eyes drawn with worry. “There’s no question that Jim is pushing himself running off like this. I don’t know what his physical or mental condition will be when we find him.”

“Is any of his luggage is missing?”

Leonard went to the closet, rummaging for evidence. “Only his duffel bag is missing. Think he left for the hospital?”

“Perhaps,” Spock said. “Or a nearby hotel.”

“Maybe we can still find him, before he hurts himself.” Leonard stood. “Is he blocking us?”

Spock closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Yes,” he said quietly, after a brief pause. He opened his eyes. “It is unfortunate,” he added then strode from the room.

Jocelyn and Leonard followed him, stopping when Nora called out from the end of the hall.

Nora looked at them with motherly concern. “He’s gone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Leonard clipped. “He left. He could be headed for San Francisco on his own—or another place to stay for the night.”

Jocelyn could only hope that Leonard was right.

“It's storming again,” Nora murmured, casting a glance out the window. “I don't like the idea of him out in this weather in his weakened condition.”

Joanna glued herself to Nora’s hip, her eyes wet. “Daddy, please find Uncle Jim. I’m scared.”

“We’ll find him, baby,” Jocelyn assured her.

Leonard turned to look at her, scowling. “We?”

She huffed. Did he always have to doubt everything she said? “You need all the help you can get.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “And Jojo?”

“We’ll be fine,” Nora interjected, gently squeezing Joanna’s shoulders. “Go.”

“I will contact Larrett, then inform you of where we should look for him,” Spock said.

“I'll be waiting.” Leonard’s scowl deepened. “Until then, I’ll head downtown, towards the public transport system. He might be planning on taking a hoverbus to wherever it is that he's going.”

Once Jocelyn was left alone with her ex-husband, she held her breath. She didn’t know what else to say to him to comfort him, her own thoughts in a whirlwind. She also wanted to help, but wasn’t sure that he would let her.

Of course, that never stopped her before.

“I need to pack a few things,” he said hotly.

She tamped down a sigh and followed him back into Jim’s room. He was grabbing medical supplies left and right, but she was certain he didn’t even comprehend half the items he was stuffing into a bag.

“What did you mean, asking Mr. Spock if he is blocking you?” she asked.

“We have a bond,” Leonard said, his face conveniently averted as he packed more into a bag.

“A bond?” she repeated in disbelief.

She could not see him entering some kind of Vulcan bond willingly.

He must have seen the confusion on her face.

“A familial bond that was recently formed—by accident,” he explained tightly.

“Oh. I bet you just love that.”

“If you're asking if it bothered me, it did,” he snapped. “At first. Now, however, it would come in handy if Jim wasn't so damn stubborn.”

She felt slightly guilty she had goaded him, especially when he was so worried. But she was also amused that he couldn't see their shared stubbornness for himself.

She lifted a brow. “Like you?”

He shot her an indignant look.

She stared back unapologetically, vowing to help him even if he tried to push her away.

Anything to right her many wrongs.

 

oOo

 

Spock paced in the quietness of Eleanora’s kitchen, unsettled and his logic fraying. Nora had taken Joanna upstairs to speak with her privately, in an effort to calm her fears about Jim’s absence. He had been gratified to learn that he had not been expected to offer the child comfort for he could find none in the way that Jim had fled the premises.

Neither could he find comfort in the last conversation he’d had with Leonard and Jim.

Now, having spoken to Chief Larrett, and continuing to dwell on their conversation with his own questions, he felt as if his mind was on the verge of imploding. Specifically, whenever he thought or spoke about _Jim_.

If it was Jim’s agitation, not his, he could not discern the difference, though he suspected that it was. Meditation would reduce any agitation, but he could not excuse himself to do so now. Since his discussion with Larrett about the captain, the sensation in his mind had not stopped.

He did not understand it, could not determine a reason for it. Jim was continuing to shield himself from both him and Leonard, yet this disturbance from the human grew with each passing minute.

He found it difficult to give Larrett his full attention under the circumstances, although he had discovered the act of pacing reduced his agitation by twenty-one percent.

It must be the _captain’s_.

Leonard and Jocelyn were preparing to leave, and so should he. However, another thought had formed in his mind, an urgent premonition like a prick, that prevented him from doing so. It grew in strength, warning him that he was missing a key piece to the mystery surrounding Jim’s departure.

He was, indeed, missing many pieces.

Nyota often told him, teasingly, that the captain was the center of his universe. It was a peculiar observation expressed by the very object of his affection, a woman with whom he found a comfortable companionship. He had tried to formulate a counter argument, but he had discovered in the first days on board the Enterprise under Captain Kirk that she was ninety-five point one percent correct in her observations. Selek, who had expressed a similar sentiment, was also correct.

Despite his illogical desire to refute her claim, and assert that he had joined Starfleet long before Jim Kirk had, which would prove he was not the center of his universe, he could not deny its truth. Now that he shared a familial bond with the very man who had left the premises, a man who had become, by nature of the bond, a brother, there was no doubt that his life had entwined with the captain’s in a way he would never have predicted.

The new bond, and the deep concern he had for Jim’s well-being, had provoked him to reveal Jim’s secret. Regretfully, although it had not been entirely of his own accord, he had done so. Without regard to the captain’s desire to withhold the information from Leonard.

It grieved him, and he would have to make amends. However, he would not dwell on the past. He was certain of the adverse effects the meld had had on Jim. They had become chronic in nature, and the harm it had inflicted in the depths of his mind could no longer be ignored. Jim would have never informed the doctor. It had, inevitably, been both his decision and the influence of the bond that had determined his own course in the end.

After all, he had been the one to perform the meld. More or less.

If logic had controlled Jim Kirk, the situation would have been resolved once they had reached Earth after the Narada attacks.

But, logic did not dictate Jim Kirk’s actions now.

That is why he must convince Larrett to view Jim’s actions as _he_ does. Illogical, but uncannily correct.

Whatever they had first believed to be the cause for Jim’s departure was simply not the truth.

He was certain that if they did not quickly discover the reason, they would not find Jim before he left Atlanta, increasing the probability that his health would be damaged.

“Why would Kirk comm not one but three cab companies?” Chief Larrett murmured.

“It is possible it is a diversion.”

“Diversion?” Larrett frowned. “That seems a little...much. Especially if he was emotionally unstable and physically ill. I don’t know how anyone would have had the wherewithal to make three calls before leaving in that state. Has Kirk done anything like this before?”

Spock could not deny the logic of the Chief's reasoning, but explaining the captain’s past behavior to Chief Larrett was not without its own difficulties. Larrett would not begin to understand the circumstances because he could not divulge certain Starfleet records. “He has acted in a perplexing manner in the past,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “His ways...differ.”

“Then this could be to confuse us.…” The chief paused. “That is a reasonable assumption based on what you explained earlier.”

_But Jim was not logical._

“Perhaps the opposite is true in this case,” Spock said.

Chief Larrett sighed, then grew quiet. “He did this to guide us? These are clues as to where he is going?”

“Yes.” Indeed, it now appeared to be the answer behind the captain’s brash actions.

Yes, Jim was reckless. He was also brave. Unselfish. He had proved it, perishing alone behind an impenetrable door.

James T. Kirk had acted in the best interest of his crew, saving them.

Though he could not ascertain how—or why—he could not ignore the strong probability that Jim had ventured beyond the safe walls of Nora’s house in an effort to protect someone.

Leonard, or Joanna. Or both.

“If it is not a diversion, these are clues,” Larrett repeated. “I do know, offhand, that these companies surround the general downtown area when locating them on a map, although they are several blocks away from the main strip. If he’s headed in that direction, he’s nearly halfway there now. I’ll alert the station, call these companies. Meanwhile—”

“I will proceed with my previous plans to drive towards the city,” Spock asserted.

“It probably would be best. In Mr. Kirk’s ill state, and the rain, who knows…”

Larrett left his observation unfinished, the raw truth of the situation clear to both of them. It was painful to finish it silently and alone.

“I’ll keep in touch, Mr. Spock,” Larrett said after a pause.

“So will I.”

Their comm ended. As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard Leonard and Jocelyn speaking to one another as they exited through the front door, their murmurs indecipherable despite his Vulcan hearing. The front door closed behind them.

Spock continued through the hallway, intent on his own departure, when Nora called from above to him.

“Commander!”

The fear and urgency in her voice alarming, he stopped and glanced up, his gaze sweeping upwards past the steps. She stood at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister.

He could not determine why, but her expression disturbed him.

“Thank God you haven’t left yet.” Her voice was soft and broken. “Is Len still here?”

“He is not. Is something wrong?” he inquired.

“I’d say there is,” she said, her knuckles whitening, along with her face. “Mr. Spock, you better come up here.”

 

oOo

 

Jim gripped the handlebars and leaned forward with a crooked grin.

After he’d taken the motorcycle from a fenced in junkyard in a neighbor’s backyard, five doors down from Nora, he knew she’d be worth the price he’d pay later for stealing this antique. His dad would have liked her. She was smooth and fast, her wheels in perfect condition. All that he needed her to be in order to get to Treadway on time.

The scenery slipped past him like he was on a merry-go-round, the lights, colors, and shapes blurring together. The sight sent a thrill down his spine, a thrill he constantly craved.

He was happy. Like he was finally seeing the world as it should be. No more dying, or thinking about dying, or thinking about recovering.

He could ride all night.

Maybe forever.

The rain pelted his shoulders and soaked his head. The wind whipped his face because he’d forgotten to wear a helmet. He’d already had to evade the police once.

But he didn't care.

He was loose and free—damn, he was high—and loving every minute of it.

Agrediphine was the best thing he’d ever done for himself. He reached with one hand to pat his jacket pocket, to make sure he had the other medications. They were there, ready for him.

Not that they were the answer to his every problem. Hell, he was still coughing. Even so, Treadway didn’t stand a chance.

He tilted his head back and laughed softly in the darkness, letting the rain fall on his face. He licked the fresh drops of rain running over his lips. It was the best water he’d ever tasted in his life, but it didn’t even taste like water. It tasted like magic. Like a dream, soothing his throat as it went down.

If he were a betting man—and he most definitely was—he’d bet that Bones had no idea of the gift he had stashed in his closet.

Once he stopped near the bookstore, he’d dose up again. If he felt this good now, he could only imagine how good he’d feel with another shot. Didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was something.

He would be there soon. Any minute no—

He thought he saw the sign, from the corner of his eye. Jerking to attention, Jim pulled himself up straight, a strange feeling settling in his stomach and another creeping into his chest.

 _Shit_.

He shouldn’t have passed the street.

He had to _drive_ down the street.

That was all part of his plan, wasn’t it?

He looked to his left and then his right. And left, again. His head was practically spinning when he was done, unsure as to where he was. Until he saw another sign.

Dammit, he really had passed the street. He couldn’t stop or he’d waste more time. He had to get to the bank, then to Treadway.

Or maybe he’d already gone to a bank. He couldn’t remember.

Why couldn’t he remember?

Shit, what the hell was going on? The road was curvy, every light blinding him.

Why couldn’t he see straight?

He had the money. He had to have it. His duffel bag was stuffed full. It had to be.

Treadway was waiting for it.

Where was he going again?

 _Fuck_.

He didn’t feel right.

He felt amazing.

He had to head back.

To Bones.

No, to Treadway.

It was up to him.

He had to stop.

He had to turn.

He slammed on the brakes.

The bike tipped precariously.

He should’ve known better.

But he didn’t.

Not this time.

The wheels slipped on the wet road, and Jim went careening.

 

oOo

 

After Nora finished explaining what she had found in Leonard’s room, Spock could not form a proper reply. He was grievously perplexed by the captain’s most recent actions. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, his heart beating erratically at his side.

Jim had broken into Dr. McCoy’s medical supplies and taken at least two medications, then proceeded to inject himself with the drugs without the doctor’s supervision.

He could not find any comfort in the facts. Jim was gravely ill, with unknown drugs now coursing through his blood.

He had expected Jim to act illogically. He had never expected him to act so _foolishly_. Not after all that Leonard had done to save his life, the pain of that still fresh.

“I found one there,” Nora said quietly pointing to a spot by the bed. “And here,” she continued, nodding towards the wall.

Spock reread the name on the packaging she had handed him.

 _Agrediphine_.

He was unaware of the drug or the drug’s effects, but that Jim had taken them was all that he required to ascertain that they were strong enough give an ill man enough strength to leave, unhindered, and brave the outside world.

However, he did not have enough information to determine if the two hyposprays Jim had administered to himself had been too much.

A most disconcerting thought.

“I must inform Dr. McCoy at once,” he said, clutching the packaging at his side.

Indeed, he dreaded telling him what Jim had done.

Nora nodded, her expression pinched with worry. “I’m so sorry, Commander. I wish—”

Spock jolted back unexpectedly, her words lost as pain slammed into his head. It flooded his mind before he could shield himself from the unexpected attack.

“Commander!”

Spock fell to his knees, his mind ravaged with fire. He clutched his skull, the sensation dulling every awareness he had of his surroundings.

This was Jim.

 _Jim_.

The captain was in trouble, and he could not push him away. He never could.

He shielded what he could without blocking Jim entirely. He shielded the doctor when he realized Jim’s distress had filtered through the bond to him, as well.

He reached for every clue Jim gave him through this unprecedented lapse in control.

He reached for Jim.

He found him, and Jim’s eyes became his own.

_Dazedly, he blinked up at the sky, seeing nothing but the rain before it hit his face._

_He had crashed. Maybe. He really didn’t know what had happened. For all he knew, he was stargazing, his favorite thing to do on the obser...observ...oh, hell. Whatever it's called. Had been all along. He felt numb, the euphoria different than it had been before, but no less._

_The honk of a horn shattered the idea that he was sprawled on the grass._

_Huh. He was on the road?_

_He lazily rolled onto his side. He didn’t stand, something like a deep pressure at his side taking his breath away. But he did look. A darkened road led to a sign and another road, right into the heart of the city. He strained to read the sign, but its words were too hard to read in the dark._

_He peered further into the darkness, and found it. His motorcycle had spun off the road._

_He awkwardly pushed himself to his knees. His next thought was a sinking realization. One hypospray had fallen out of his pocket. It had cracked, its liquid spilling out onto the street. With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket, his apprehension growing. He sighed in relief once he caressed the drugs that he had left. At least these were safe, whatever they were._

_A hovercraft drove past, and another. He struggled to his feet and walked unsteadily towards his bike, his body easily pushed to and fro by the wind. The rain pounded his back, not that he cared. He was already soaked through. And the ride had been exhilarating._

_He straightened, confident it would_ still _be exhilarating._

_Something thick slipped into his eye, and he wiped at the annoying substance with a fumbling, broken gesture. It was too dark to know what it was._

_He sniffed his sleeve, instead. Tasted it when that didn’t work._

_Blood._

_He stared down at his sleeve and laughed._

_That was nothing. He could deal with a little blood. With wiping out on the bike. He was as high as a kite. He could handle bloo—_

_Oh, shit, was he high._

_Shit, he was_ high _._

_Bones was going to kill him._

_Treadway was going to kill_ them _._

_With a grunt and more laughter, he pulled his bike up and onto the road._

_He had to get there at whatever cost._

_He wasn’t moving fast enough._

_He could fix that._

_While he was still laughing, a hypospray slipped from his fingers, empty. This time it fell on a patch of grass._

_He had to get there before they found out. He had to get to the bo—_

And as quickly as it had come, it faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DRUG USE
> 
> Another cliffhanger...don't hate me! I thought I would have more about McCoy in this chapter, but I pretty much shortened it so I could update more quickly. He'll be in Ch. 18. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please, review? Working on the next chapter...will post again as soon as I can. :)


	18. I don't know what I've done (or if I like what I've begun)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no backtracking in this chapter. :) It picks up from where we left off, but in Matthew's POV. 
> 
> Plumeria47, junker5, and diamondblue4 - I'm so grateful for the time you spend helping me with these updates! You make such a difference! Hugs!! 
> 
> Warning posted in the end notes.

 

“I don’t think anyone else will be coming out in this weather,” Stanton said in time with a rumbling roll of thunder outside the bookstore. “It’s raining harder than it was just a minute ago.”

Matthew looked up from the counter, where he’d been crunching numbers. He wanted to expand and open several stores, including one in Europe where his Aunt Evie lived. His aunt and her friends had bought enough from his store over the years to have him considering an overseas expansion. Stores like his were an anomaly, and as rare as a smile from his step-father. Yet, there were people out there who still had that strong desire to hold a real book in their hands.

He’d remain open as long as one person came to buy one book every week.

However, his step-father’s opinion was correct. This was his hobby. He was busy enough as it was maintaining his investments and other businesses. Could he really afford to expand this business, one that wasn’t as profitable as his other investments?

Unfortunately, since he was (still) a single man and had no other hobbies to speak of than the gym and piles of books, he had no choice but to answer his own question with a firm “yes.”

“At least I parked close by.” Stanton stood with his hands on his hips, staring out the large picture window up front. “No one in their right mind would be driving in this.”

He couldn’t even see across the street to the other side. “You’re probably right,” Matthew admitted.

No one was in the store. Their last customer had left a few minutes ago. The only other visitor had been his step-father, and he certainly didn’t expect him to return anytime soon. If ever.

Which reminded him that he’d promised Peter he would go see his mother. He’d stalled, not wanting to get there while Peter was still there. He shouldn’t have waited. Now it was raining cats and dogs, creating a tedious and hazardous drive.

He tapped his fingers on the counter, then walked around it to the customer side. “Let’s lock up.”

Stanton’s hands dropped from his hips. “I didn’t expect you to agree with me,” he said, looking like Matthew had just told him he’d won the lottery.

His lips quirked into a smile. He couldn't fault Stanton for his surprise. The medical student had learned quickly that Matthew kept to a strict schedule when it came to this place.

Just because he didn’t have a life, however, didn't mean that he wanted to stay here all day or his employees to do the same time when even the street was like a ghost town because of the rain.

He walked up to Stanton. “Well,” Matthew said, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “The way I see it, with this storm, no one is going to be coming—”

He paused when the front doors slid open, and a strange feeling ran down his spine.

Clay Treadway? Here? Of all people...

“You go on,” Matthew murmured to Stanton.

He eyed Treadway, who didn’t give him or Matthew a second look but continued to sweep the rest of the store with a calculating gaze.

He wouldn't want to ruin the boy’s opportunity to have a good night. Treadway had a scowl fixed on his face, as did the two men accompanying him inside the store.

A warning bell went off in his head, but maybe he’d read too many detective stories. He just didn’t believe for one moment that these men had come in here to buy books.

“Ya sure?” Stanton asked.

“You bet.” He smiled, or as much as he could now that one of Treadway’s companions was giving him a dark look with a pair of beady eyes.

“Alright,” Stanton said reluctantly. “Thanks, Boss.”

“You’re welcome,” he affirmed jovially.

It wouldn't do to alert Stanton of his suspicions. It would be safer to have the boy out of the shop.

Matthew waited until Stanton had gathered his things and left before turning his attention to his “customers.”

Treadway had taken a seat at one of the front tables for two. He leaned back, on leg crossed over the other at the ankle, his right arm slung across the top of the chair. His buddies stood by the door, like guards.

The warning bell went off again, loud and clear.

He pulled his shoulders back and met Treadway’s gaze head on. “How can I help you?”

Treadway’s lips lifted in a subtle smirk. “By getting me a...coffee. Black. I have a friend coming soon, and I’m pretty sure he’ll need it. Oh, and your most recent issue of Wheels, if you’ve got it.”

Matthew gritted his teeth and promised himself that he would not succumb to this man’s manipulations. He knew the type. He’d learned how to deal with his step-father after all these years, hadn’t he?

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross this man if he really was coming in for a chat with a friend out of the rain. Regular customers would walk up to the appropriate counter to order a coffee and grab the magazine of their choice from the display that was only a few feet away from the tables.

He got the impression Treadway wasn’t a normal customer. In fact, he smelled trouble.

What did Jocelyn see in him?

He gave him his best smile.

“Coming right up.”

 

oOo

 

She screamed his name, the man who hated being sick and stubbornly put up a fight when he was, every single time.

She helplessly watched him fall to the ground, like Joanna had done that day from the tree in the neighbor’s yard and she hadn’t been able to reach her in time to catch her.

She heard the word that escaped his lips, the one word she’d loathed for days, never warming up to the idea that her ex-husband had a best friend. A man he’d cared for more than he had ever cared for her when she’d been his wife.

She felt her heart drop when his hands dug into his scalp, moments before his entire body went limp, collapsing to the ground. He was oblivious to the raindrops pelting his face, and his slack vulnerability frightened her more than anything else.

She wasted precious time in her shock, and it was their daughter's crushed face flashing through her mind that shook her out of it.

Len.

Jim.

No, _Len_.

Len was hurt.

“No, no,” she breathed out, frantically scrambling to her knees beside him. “Len, wake up!”

Was he breathing?

Was it the bond?

Had something happened to Jim?

She tugged on the collar of his coat, loosening it, as well as undoing the top button of his shirt. She patted his cheek, then cradled his head in her hands, whimpering over him when he didn’t awake.

“Len,” she pleaded. “Please.”

He didn’t stir. He looked like death.

The rain plastered her hair against her cheek. She brushed it away from her face with an unsteady hand and pressed her trembling fingers against his wrist.

She cried out in relief when she felt his pulse against her fingertips. It was faint, but it was there.

Wiping her face, she stood, her mind racing with what to do next. He was too heavy for her to bring back inside the house, but she couldn’t leave him out here in this wretched storm.

But she had no choice. Nora was inside, a well-trained nurse. She’d get her. And Mr. Spock…

Oh, God. _Jim_.

Something had happened to Jim.

It had to be the bond. She cupped a hand over her mouth, fresh emotion welling up within her chest, and turned and ran towards the house. She made it to the top of the front porch steps just as Spock stepped out of the house. She nearly crashed into him, coming to an abrupt halt.

Her hand fixed across her heart, could do little more than stare at him, her eyes wide and wet. The memories she’d seen in the meld mixed with the fear rising in her chest, causing her to doubt her own thoughts.

Spock’s spine straightened and he pinned her with his dark, unreadable eyes.

It did not help calm the storm raging within her.

“Please,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the Vulcan’s intrusive and intense gaze. She could do that now, unlike hours earlier when she’d submitted herself to the meld and was helpless to what he’d wanted to show her. “He needs h-help.”

“Where is Dr. McCoy?” he demanded.

“Th-there.” She swallowed and opened her eyes to point towards Len’s hovercraft. “He’s on the g-ground.”

Spock brushed passed her. Nora replaced his spot at the door, and Jocelyn glanced behind her to see if Joanna was there, too.

She wasn’t.

Jocelyn’s relief was ten-fold.

Thank God she wasn’t there. The child didn’t need to see her father passed out on the ground, looking pale and vulnerable. He was their daughter’s hero, and always would be.

Nora took her by the shoulders, gently shaking her like she’d done when she’d tried to wake Leonard. “Are you alright?” she asked, coaxing her out of her thoughts. “Do you need to sit down?”

She looked into Nora’s compassionate eyes, feeling herself slip into a safe place like she’d done when the commander had removed his fingers from her temple in her office.

“No…” Her voice strained against the small lie.

She felt as if she’d aged a million years, gaining an understanding she’d never expected.

She felt as if she were four years old again, wanting to crawl under the covers and avoid the outside world.

“He’ll be okay,” Nora murmured, taking her into her arms.

Her mother-in-law had never done that before. Not even when Jocelyn and Leonard had married.

Jocelyn wondered if she always been aloof, even cold towards Nora, avoiding any comforting touch from her mother-in-law, unlike a normal bride. And not just Nora, but others, as well, always holding a part of herself back.

She melted into the embrace. For once, she allowed herself to be held.

“Jim had an accident, but he’s shielding again, and Mr. Spock is protecting Leonard,” Nora whispered into her hair. “It’ll be alright, dear.”

Surely she could believe her, her own mother-in-law. She breathed a sigh as thunder rolled across the sky.

“He’ll be alright,” Nora repeated. “Len has a hard head.”

She wasn't sure if Nora realized she was more worried about Jim than Leonard.

“Joanna?” she asked thickly.

“She’s curled on the couch, reading her new book again.”

“I h-have to help them,” she said in determination, pulling away from the older woman. “I need to find Jim.”

“Are you sure?” Nora still grasped her by the arms, gently, but her eyes looked right through her.

Was she? She glanced behind to where Len had fallen, steeling herself for bad news.

Spock had knelt beside Leonard, who was blinking up at him as if he were coming out of a deep sleep.

“If something like that should happen again, to both of them, I need to be in the driver’s seat.” She wouldn’t have it any other way. “Besides, I’m less worried about getting a speeding ticket than Len, and I doubt Commander Spock likes to break the law.”

Nora smiled, brushed Jocelyn's hair from her face.

She couldn’t remember a time in the past few years that anyone had been so kind to her. In fact, Clay had hardly touched her in recent weeks.

“It sounds like they both need you. I’ll take care of Joanna,” Nora assured her.

Her reply caught in her throat. She nodded, instead, and made her way back to the craft, her legs jelly, feeling as if they would crumble underneath her.

Spock had helped Leonard sit up, his arm around Leonard’s back in support until he regained his balance.

“Leonard.” She crouched down, also, ignoring the rain seeping through her clothing. “Are you okay?”

At first, she wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. He looked dazed and closed off, like she’d felt after the meld with Spock.

She glanced at Spock, who shook his head slightly. “He requires time to regain clarity,” Spock explained.

She could hardly stand the brief silence that followed, and her own hypersensitivity to her surroundings. She was aware of the exact second it stopped raining, of the last drop that fell on her face.

Leonard finally lifted his head, his eyes burgeoning with the pain of a man who’d lost his lover. Despite that, behind the pain, a hidden strength shone through.

But not for long.

His body swayed loosely back and forth, his expression lost again.

“Len, maybe you should wait at home,” she cautioned. “Let Spock and me search for Jim.”

He shook his head, his arms stiffening at his sides. “No,” he said hoarsely. He pushed himself forward like the stubborn man he was, with his fists clenched and digging into the ground, and a determined set to his chin, demanding, “What the hell happened to Jim?”

 

oOo

 

Matthew tried not to shoot daggers at his unwelcome guests. The rain had died down soon after their arrival, as if the universe was taunting him by stealing away a perfectly good excuse to kick them out because he was closing. Even if it was a rude excuse.

It was annoying but also dangerous, and not for the first time he considered sending his buddy at the local police station a message to see if he’d come down just to check things out.

But he didn’t want to invite trouble. Not yet. Treadway and his gang were still at his store, not budging an inch, and acting like they owned the place without even doing anything. In an odd way, they seemed...harmless. And Treadway had purchased a beverage and a magazine for himself, two very common purchases.

He bit back another sigh. The man obviously wasn't thinking of anything beyond himself, not even making the effort to look for a book for his girlfriend’s daughter.

He remained behind the counter, one eye on his work, the other on the three mysteriously silent men. He wanted to move them along, but it was impossible without him making up some wild excuse for closing the store. Or, to reveal that he was in a hurry to see his ill mother. He liked to keep his personal life private from his customers. Treadway and his ilk were the last people he’d tell.

One of Treadway’s men moved to look out the window. “Boss.”

Treadway’s head lifted. So did Matthew’s.

“Someone’s coming down the street,” the man murmured.

Treadway cocked his head and cast a casual glance outside. “Not him.”

“Well, he’s coming in, just the same.”

Matthew’s heart began to race. A customer? Now?

His bad feeling about the situation had never left. He didn't want anyone coming inside.

His finger was above the button that would darken the windows and lock his doors, when Treadway’s men crowded the figure out. Right before Matthew could get a good look at him.

Turned out he didn’t have to.

“Step aside,” a familiar voice said coldly. “I’m here to see my son.”

His stepfather had tough skin, but he didn’t like the way Treadway’s partners seemed to have bullied Peter straight out of a path into the store.

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to come back later,” the other man said.

“You don’t work for him,” Peter said. “Get out of my way.”

Matthew began his walk towards the door to take control of the situation, when Treadway exhaled a large breath.

It was obnoxious enough to halt him in his tracks.

“Is there something you needed?” Matthew clipped.

Treadway nodded. “A quiet house.”

“I don’t catch your meaning,” Matthew replied, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

His heart dropped when he realized he’d left his counter open for Treadway’s partners to access, just like one of them was doing now. A move that would prevent him from calling for help.

“Let me put it this way. I don’t think you’re open,” Treadway stated, his hand moving discreetly out from under his jacket.

Frozen, his gaze remained on Treadway’s hand, not leaving until his other partner suddenly backed away from Peter, the movement freeing him and providing a window just large enough that he was able to lock eyes with his stepfather.

“Matthew.” Peter’s eyes flickered in question. “I thought you were coming to the hospital.”

He thought he was, too.

“This place is closed,” Treadway spoke slowly and quietly.

The phaser, hidden discreetly by the table and Treadway’s own hand, pointed straight at Matthew.

His pulse racing, he pulled his eyes up from the weapon and met Peter’s gaze. “I got tied up.”

Peter waited a beat, then said, “I’ll take you over, if you want.”

Matthew paused, more than a little shocked. Peter had never offered him a ride in the past, not even to the doctor’s office when his leg acted up and he couldn’t wear the prosthetic comfortably.

Not that he had time to dwell on Peter and damn rides to the doctor’s when it was apparent that Treadway wanted to meet this mystery friend of his here in his bookstore alone.

Treadway’s brow arched. “Move him along,” he said in a low voice that was for his ears only.

“Matthew?” Peter asked, stepping forward only to be blocked once more by Treadway’s partner.

“I’ll come visit my brother after we close,” he said, somehow not panicking as he stared at his stepfather, who was currently his only link to the outside world. “Which will be soon. Rain leaked in the children’s section. The curse of an old building.”

If Peter was confused by his answer—the brother he didn’t have and his old building that wasn’t that old—he didn’t show it.

Score one for that cold personality of his.

Hopefully he’ll get the hint that something wasn't right—and then do something about it. Peter might be inconsiderate, but surely he wouldn’t leave him here with these men.

“I’ll tell him,” Peter said, already turning away. “Make sure you bring a picture of your new dog. He’s talked about nothing else since I told him you were coming.”

Matthew watched him leave, baffled but impressed by his improvisation. His new dog?

“Very good,” Treadway said softly. “Now, close up shop but don’t try anything stupid. When the captain gets here—”

“Captain?” He turned to him in confused anger. “I don’t know what makes you think you can take over here, but it’s not right.”

Treadway shrugged, placing his comm on the table with his free hand. “Don’t blame me. Kirk was the one who suggested this place.”

Kirk.

It wasn’t possible, was it?

Kirk, as in Captain Kirk?

What business did Kirk have with Treadway? Why had he picked here to take care of it? Did McCoy know his friend was here? Wasn’t he sick? Too ill to leave home? If he was, McCoy would have never let him arrange a meeting at the bookstore. That meant...Kirk had slipped out of the house without the doctor knowing. Which indicated this so-called meeting was a threat to someone's health and well-being.

Before he could ask if he was referring to the captain, a man’s shadow moved along the storefront.

“Speak of the devil,” Treadway said with a dark chuckle. “Here he comes now.”

 

oOo

 

Fear.

Hurt.

Rage.

Disappointment.

 _Betrayal_.

McCoy couldn’t settle on only one goddamn emotion to feel out of the million that were stabbing him in his heart. He needed to focus, to ignore the buffering internal emotional storm in order to survive. The truth of what Jim had done threatened to finish him off by breaking what fragile trust was left between them.

Jim had broken into his supplies—had _stolen_ them—taking the Agrediphine. And not one dose, which was enough to make him high, but two.

And another drug, maybe even another stimulant, on top of it.

The repercussions of Jim’s actions fell on him and him alone. Not Spock. Not Starfleet. Nobody but him.

He was a doctor. Jim’s attending physician. He had to choose. He had to choose, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

He had to push aside his hurt and anger at whatever the cost to himself. Jim’s health mattered more to him than dwelling on Jim’s poor choices and the continued breach of trust. For now, those things weren’t important. Later, however…Jim would have hell to pay. McCoy couldn't sweep his actions under the rug. Not this time.

“He’s gonna overdose,” he whispered, kneading a still-tingling spot on his temple.

If he hadn’t already. And if Jim was trying to deal with Treadway or come to the rescue of someone else, he wasn’t going to be as quick as he thought he’d be after taking the stimulant, or as smart.

One dose of Agrediphine stripped away any ability to exercise logic and reasoning a person had. It was no wonder Jim had crashed then taken something else. He wasn't thinking clearly, and wouldn’t be for a long time as he came down from the drugs. Agrediphine was under lock and key, to only be used in extreme circumstances and even then, under direct medical supervision, for that very reason.

He had a beta blocker in the house, the one thing he hadn’t packed before running out the door.

It was a good thing he had been stopped from leaving with Jocelyn, even if it had resulted in the headache from hell, or he would not be prepared to help Jim.

“We’ll need an ambulance. He’ll have to be admitted to the hospital, but I have to get to him first, Spock,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I have to get there _now_.”

They didn’t have time to drive downtown. _Jim_ didn’t have time. If Jim took the last drug, whatever it was, it would kill him within minutes without the proper medical intervention. He also had some type of head laceration, from the way Spock explained things. McCoy was worried that he had more than just a head wound, given that Jim hadn’t recognized he’d been injured from wiping out on the bike in the first place.

His heart squeezed with pain, so intense that it stole his breath away.

_Jim. Why?_

It was the question he always asked himself whenever Jim ran into trouble.

Why did Jim have to put himself last every single time someone was in trouble or needed him? Why did he have to be so damn heroic and noble, despite the cost to himself? Why did he leap without looking, always expecting McCoy to bail him out, heal him, and save his sorry hide?

_And why did he—McCoy—always do it?_

“Is there any way the police can beam you there directly?” Jocelyn asked.

He hadn’t thought of that. By the look on Spock’s face, the Vulcan hadn’t either.

The lack of logic—in both of them—and the fact that it took Jocelyn to call them out made him realize that some would argue they were too close to the situation and needed to step away from it. Part of him would have to agree, not that he’d willingly hand over the job of healing Jim to anyone else.

Not even now, when he wanted to kill Jim for what he’d done once he got to him.

“Indeed, there is,” Spock said, and lifted his comm. “Jim’s shields dropped briefly, allowing me to see where he was two point three minutes ago. The police station is near the road on which he crashed. I’ll request the two of us to be beamed immediately to that location and we will search for Jim in that area.”

At least Spock had seen that much, though it was very little to go on. It was the only way to find their foolhardy captain as soon as possible, though it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Jim was headed for a place that started with a ‘b.’ It wasn’t much to go on, but maybe it was enough.

“Two? They better beam three of us out,” Jocelyn demanded, glaring at Spock. “I’m coming with you.”

Where had his ex-wife gone and who was this person?

“Let her come, Spock.” He began to walk backwards towards the house, pointing his finger at Spock. “But don’t let them beam us out until I’m back out here with what I need to help stop the effects of the Agrediphine,” he ordered.

He had the same horrible, sinking feeling that he’d had when Jim had been carted into his sickbay in a bodybag.

The feeling that, no matter how fast they’re beamed out, they would still be too late.

 

oOo

 

It wasn't a Starfleet officer who walked up to the front door of Matthew’s bookstore.

It was a ghost, one who was soaked to the skin with blood dripping down his face.

As Kirk stumbled inside, Matthew saw the captain’s features in the light, and a jolt of pure shock coursed down his body. This man couldn’t be Kirk. This man was too thin, his skin pallor sickly, his eyes dilated and constantly moving left and right, and his body language the kind that one would associate with someone who was intoxicated or on drugs—or both. His walk was crazily stilted one second, purposeful and energized the next. The same could be said of his expression, which changed from a lost and almost blank look to one of grit and determination in the blink of an eye. Obviously, whatever had gotten him here had taken its toll.

It didn’t add up. Kirk couldn’t be intoxicated or on drugs. At least, he didn’t think that would be something Starfleet’s flagship captain would do if he was sick. And he was clearly a sick man, yet his appearance went beyond that of someone who was unwell because of a common illness or an injury.

Kirk sneered at Treadway’s partner at the door, who looked like he didn’t know whether to give Kirk a hand or steer clear of him. After a quick glance at Treadway, the man opted to take two steps back. He did so just in time. Kirk swung around abruptly, the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder barely missing the man’s jaw.

“You’re late,” Treadway said with a smirk, one that Matthew felt like wiping off his face for calling Kirk out when he obviously was unwell.

Kirk’s smile was cold and humorless as he walked up to Treadway’s table. “Yeah? Well, you’re an asshole,” he retorted, setting his bag down on the table with a solid thud.

Matthew moved quietly, so he could have a better viewpoint watching the exchange. He wanted to help Kirk, if he could, but he didn’t want to risk Treadway’s wrath like Kirk was doing with that comment, even though it had been amusing.

Treadway was a big man, and Kirk’s frame, which he knew from watching the news had once shown off a healthy physique, was now slight. Not only thin and wasted. And drooping on one side.

What had happened to him?

“You’re lucky I didn’t follow through on my threat.” Treadway leaned forward menacingly.

Kirk plopped into the chair across from him. “You’re lucky I know how to break into locked things or you wouldn’t have your money.”

Treadway’s expression grew wary. “You stole it?”

Kirk’s eyes filled with confusion. “What?”

Treadway narrowed his eyes on him. “You stole the money?” he asked flatly.

“I did?” Kirk’s brow wrinkled oddly, the lines appearing on just one side.

“Did you?”

"Did I what?"

"Steal," Treadway said through clenched teeth.

“Steal somethin’?”

“Yes,” Treadway replied, with an exasperated breath. “Steal.”

“Oh.” Kirk smiled a little. “Yeah.”

Treadways’ brows shot up.

So did Matthew’s.

“Jesus, Kirk,” Treadway breathed. “Did anyone see you?”

Kirk blinked. “Naw, it was dark, but I managed to unlock the gate an’ push that baby out w’out makin’ a sound.”

Treadway shook his head. “You’re not making any sense. What did you steal?”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “The bike.”

“You stole the bike, too?” Treadway tensed. “There’s no way that you did all that without anyone noticing.”

“No. Jus’.”

“You didn’t steal the money. You took the bike,” Treadway said slowly, now getting to his feet. “That’s a big problem. Huge, actually. If the police followed you, you just endangered your friends.”

And with that, the bravado left Kirk’s expression.

Treadway watched Kirk, who appeared to have checked out of the conversation as he slumped in his seat. “I know I’m repeating myself,” the bigger man murmured, “but you look worse than the last time I saw you.”

“Wrecked m’bike,” Kirk slurred, bringing a shaking fist up to his left eye, the one filling with blood from his wound, and wiping at it. “Damn, evr’thn’s blurry.”

Treadway cocked his head. “Are you drunk? You are, aren't you?”

“Uh-uh.” Kirk squinted at him. “Not th’stupid.”

The other man blinked, then began to laugh. “Holy shit, Kirk. You’re stoned.”

Matthew’s chest tightened as Treadway began to mock the captain. He wanted to deny the truth of Treadway’s observation but he couldn’t.

Kirk didn’t seem to be the type who would use drugs. Had he needed them to get here? But how had he gotten them in the first place?

Treadway put his hands on the table, bracing his arms as he leaned forward with a smirk. “I bet I could do anything to you right now, couldn’t I?” His eyes followed the lines of Kirk’s face, down to his chest and then to his crotch. “And I mean _anything_.”

A chill went down Matthew’s spine. Surely Treadway wouldn’t go there, taking advantage of someone so ill he couldn’t even respond normally to a simple question.

“You’re a real fucker,” Kirk said, his eyes lighting with anger.

“I didn’t make you take anything,” the other man laughed again.

“Died,” Kirk slurred, his lashes fluttering closed then opening again.

Died? What was Kirk talking about?

Treadway grew quiet. “You sure you want to spread that news around, Kirk?”

Kirk looked at Matthew for the first time. “Books,” he said with a blink.

“Damn.” Treadway whistled. “He's really gone.”

Finding Kirk’s blank stare disturbing, Matthew grabbed at the chance to cut in and hopefully regain the captain’s attention. “That's right, Mr. Kirk. Books. I’m Matthew, the bookstore owner.”

Treadway waved the phaser at him. “You know each other?”

Matthew chose to ignore the question. “You got what you wanted from him,” he said to Treadway. “Leave him and get out of here.”

“Wasn't planning on sticking around.” Treadway grabbed the bag Kirk had brought and unzipped it. “It better all be in here, Kirk.”

Kirk leaned against the window beside him, his body nearly sliding off the chair. Matthew started forward, intent on helping him, but then Kirk shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of paper. Kirk set the paper on the table with exaggerated movements then slumped back into his seat again, as if the action had exerted him completely.

With one eye on Kirk, Treadway grabbed the papers and rifled through them. “A thousand Orion notes?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Not sure why you’re giving me this, but I'll ta—”

“Boss,” the man at the door barked, cutting Treadway off. He lowered his binoculars and glanced back at him. “There's someone running down the street. He’s not police. There’s another man a little ways behind him. Looks like it could be the commander. Maybe Jocelyn’s ex, too.”

A wave of relief washed over Matthew. It had to be Spock and McCoy. If anyone could stop this man, it would be them. Maybe his stepfather had called the police, giving them the lead they needed to find Kirk.

“Shit,” Treadway muttered. “I doubt Kirk told them, but somehow they figured it out,” he continued, talking about the captain as if he wasn’t even there.

And, maybe he wasn’t.

“Doesn’t matter if he did tell him.” Treadway slung the bag over his shoulder. “He has McCoy wrapped around his finger. Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how he got his drugs. He probably needed them to get here.”

Matthew swallowed his fear and walked up to Kirk. Placing his hand on the captain’s shoulder, the jacket that was still slick with rain, he nudged him. “Captain?”

Kirk didn’t snap out of it.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Treadway said. “He must have taken too much of whatever he's stoned on.”

Anger stirred in Matthew’s chest. “Because of you,” he accused.

“Watch your mouth,” Treadway snapped.

“Jim?” Matthew asked Kirk, gently shaking him.

Treadway sighed and shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. It's time for us to go. Our ride’s meeting us here,” he said, his lip curling into another mocking smile as he turned away. “Thanks, _Matthew,_ for the coffee. And, Kirk, for the money. We’ll let ourselves out the back door.”

Matthew would realize, much later, that Kirk had a high tolerance for what McCoy had had in his possession. That Kirk, though damaged, innately knew what to do. That Kirk was one tough son of a bitch.

But now, as Kirk suddenly lurched forward, out from under Matthew’s hand, and shoved the table straight towards Treadway, all he could think of was that it was their last chance to stop the bastard once and for all.

The unexpected force threw Treadway against the wall, knocking the phaser out of his hand. It clattered to the ground just beyond the man’s reach.

But not Kirk’s. Or Matthew’s.

Kirk dove for the ground first, leaving Matthew standing above him. Before either he or Treadway could come to their senses, Kirk shoved his foot at Matthew’s prosthetic leg. It made impact, sweeping him onto the floor.

The wind knocked out of him, he stared up at the ceiling, gasping for air, stunned that Kirk had taken him out with one simple move. That he’d known which leg to strike and that he’d had the wherewithal to do it at all.

He groaned, cursing the imbalance that had plagued him ever since he’d lost his leg.

He almost missed the very reason why Kirk had made him fall.

Kirk fired the weapon, dropping one of Treadway’s men behind Matthew, though it took him four shots. The other man fled towards the back of the shop before Kirk could fire at him, his hasty departure accompanied by a loud pounding at the door.

Matthew lifted his head to see Commander Spock back up and fire at the glass with his phaser.

Matthew wanted to motion to him to try the larger window, instead, because the door could withstand those shots. But he was suddenly distracted by Treadway’s fit of rage.

“You little fuck,” Treadway roared, grabbing Kirk by the neck and heaving him to his feet. “It was set to kill, you bastard. You killed him.”

Kirk’s hand went limp and the weapon fell to the ground for a second time. While Treadway kept one arm around Kirk’s neck, dragging him back, Matthew grabbed the phaser.

Treadway and Kirk wrestled, but the bigger man had no trouble gaining the upperhand. Kirk choked, weak, gurgling sounds escaping his lips.

“You’ll pay for this,” Treadway growled in the captain’s ear. “And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Treadway squeezed harder. His arm muscles bulged from the effort. Kirk’s face flushed red as he was being strangled, his eyes widening then fluttering shut. He tugged at Treadway’s forearms with both hands, but only for a few seconds. His hands dropped to his sides, his body slowly going limp even as he continued to struggle.

Kirk wouldn’t last long. Treadway clearly intended to kill him.

And Matthew was certain that if it was his intention, he would succeed in minutes. Maybe less.

Matthew’s finger touched the trigger, but he didn’t pull it back.

He wasn’t a marksman.

He couldn’t fire at one without risking that he’d shoot the other. Worse, with one quick look he determined that the phaser required a code to switch the setting back to stun. Even if he let the commander in, Treadway would still have the upper hand. Treadway was strong enough that he could break Kirk’s neck quickly and without much effort. Or, he’d use Kirk as a bargaining chip, dragging the sick and drugged man away until he was out of sight.

As Matthew stood there like a fool, debating his next move, Treadway slammed Kirk against the glass, grinning wickedly as the force knocked Kirk into a daze. The window vibrated from the force of the blow.

As Treadway shoved Kirk’s body into the window a second time, making Kirk cry out, Matthew made his decision.

He fired at the window.

In particular, at the sweet spot. Just because he didn't know the first thing about phasers didn’t mean that he didn't know his own windows, which he’d designed to be an emergency exit.

A frivolous and unnecessary expenditure, according to his stepfather.

“This is all your fault,” Treadway snarled, slamming the captain’s head against the window with a sickening smack. “You and your friends ruined _everything_. I had her eating out of my hand.”

Matthew fired again.

Treadway and Kirk barreled through the window as it shattered.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Descriptions of Violence
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed the update. I had actually planned a very evil cliffhanger, but decided that this one was difficult enough. 
> 
> I'd LOVE to hear from you. I'll be working on the next chapter right away. :)


	19. You'll keep tearing me apart (with your foolish games)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaking in an update for 'this week,' as promised. I'd like to give an (indefinite) warning for content now that we've reached this part of the story. If you are easily triggered by emotional angst, tread carefully. Please. If you want a head's up from me to let you know when you can breathe easier while you read, I'll be more than happy to oblige.
> 
> Warnings posted in end notes (to avoid spoilers).
> 
> Thank you junker5, diamondblue4, and plumeria47 for your help with edits and ideas and encouragement - the list literally goes on! You guys are the best. :) (All remaining mistakes are completely mine!)
> 
> We're backtracking again, but just a little bit. This chapter begins in McCoy's POV, right as they are arriving at the police station.

McCoy materialized on the beaming platform of the Atlanta Police Station, sandwiched between Jocelyn and Spock.

Or, rather, that had been the plan. Of course it didn’t work out that way.

Jim was missing. Jim was flying high on Agrediphine. Treadway was smart enough to have lured Jim away.

Why would _anything_ go right?

He’d never get used to his atoms separating, or his innards feeling like they’d been twisted into a funnel cloud once he materialized. It didn’t matter what transporter system he used. Whether it was the platform on the Enterprise or the one they’d used on the shores of California. They were all the same.

Except for this one.

He felt himself coming apart as soon as he arrived. “Dammi—” he cursed, cut off as he was wrenched away again, the transporter beam sending him to who knows where.

He reappeared on the same platform to find Jocelyn looking at him, at the place where he’d stood, like she’d thought he’d disappeared forever. Like Porthos, Archer’s poor dog that finally returned home after a year.

But he was a doctor, not some damned dog. He didn’t have the time to be lost.

“Leonard, are you alright?” she asked.

“Not sure.” He closed his eyes, dizzy and disoriented, and breathed deeply. “Damn it all…” He opened his eyes and glared at the man at the console on the other side of the room. “Is that normal around here?”

The man winced. “Sorry about that, sir,” he apologized. “We’re having some issues with interference, just like the rest of the city. You could feel some tingling for a short time.”

“Wonderful,” McCoy muttered.

Spock looked at him for a long moment.

“I'm fine, Spock,” McCoy grumbled.

Spock hesitated before stepping down first. “We must hurry.”

McCoy adjusted the bag on his shoulder and stepped off the platform, glancing back to see that Jocelyn was also following. He wasn’t sure how he felt having her tag along, especially if this involved Treadway. But he’d figured that she’d find her way downtown on her own, anyway, if they hadn’t allowed her to come along. This was the safest way to include her. He hoped.

Her face was pale.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked.

He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

She averted her eyes. “No.”

Her reply wasn’t convincing, but he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted to do was get in an argument with her when Jim’s life was on the line and waste precious time in another argument. Maybe in time things would smooth out between them. But now? He wasn’t sure they should even be in the same room together for long, both more likely to snap each other’s heads off than to make polite civilized conversation.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

He ended up being the last one to greet the two officers waiting for them in the doorway.

The older of the two, a man with graying hair but a kind face, reminded him of Pike, and spoke first. “Commander, Dr. McCoy, I’m Detective Evans, this is Officer Hamilton. We’ve begun a search for both the captain and Mr. Treadway. Officer Hamilton will accompany you as you start on Specter Avenue on foot. It’s not far from where you said you saw Kirk...in your...” he hesitated.

“Through our bond,” Spock provided succinctly.

“Right,” Evans said, nodding in acknowledgment. “The bond.”

“And the ambulance?” McCoy interjected.

“Please, follow me.” Evans walked out into the hallway. “I’ll explain while we make our way to the front desk.”

Impatient, McCoy bit back a sharp reply. He fell in step with Spock, beside Evans, no less anxious than before. In fact, just being in the presence of these capable law enforcement officials, knowing Jim was at the mercy of both the drug's effects and Treadway, tied his stomach in even more knots.

“We have one parked in the lot outside, ready to respond at your word, Dr. McCoy,” Evans explained. “We’ve also been in contact with Starfleet. They are prepared to take Treadway into custody once we’ve located and arrested him. If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Privacy,” McCoy said, exchanging a look with Spock. “Kirk could be in a compromised state.”

He didn’t elaborate on what that would entail, certain that if he didn’t keep Jim’s indiscretion contained that it would open up another can of worms. He’d already sent Boyce a message of his own before beaming to the police station, covering his tracks. He wasn’t looking forward to reading Boyce’s reply, a man who was already under harsh scrutiny by the brass, just like he was. More than that, however, Boyce was a man who knew him—McCoy—all too well.

Boyce was aware of everything pertinent to Jim’s recuperation, including the stress it had had on his attending physician.

There wouldn’t be much keeping him from transferring Jim to his care if he deemed McCoy emotionally compromised. Not if this went completely south.

And there was no way in hell that it hadn’t already.

He couldn’t fathom anyone else taking care of Jim, but he’d had to inform Boyce of the situation as soon as possible in order to get clearance at the local hospital. He’d had to risk it. Once Jim was stable—for he was prepared for the worst case scenario, that Jim had overdosed already—then they’d think about transferring him to Starfleet General.

Only then would he consider what Jim taking the Agrediphine really meant for them both—and their status as doctor and patient. As best friends. As _everything_.

Evans gave him a small smile. “We’ll do all that we can. We are aware of the seriousness of the matter and Captain Kirk’s poor health. We’re prepared to keep this as discrete as possible, I promise.”

McCoy hoped it was a promise that they could keep.

They passed a man in a trench coat as they made their way out the door with Hamilton. His face was hard to forget, the resemblance the man’s sour face had to Spock’s notable. And he’d bumped into McCoy with enough force to jostle him sideways a few steps.

The sour-faced man strode towards the front desk sans an apology.

“Idiot,” McCoy grumbled under his breath, before the clear night air shocked him back to the task at hand.

At least it had stopped raining. With a sigh of relief that something was finally going right, he picked up his pace. Spock and Hamilton were already ahead of them.

“Do you know who that _idiot_ was?” Jocelyn asked him breathlessly, hurrying to remain beside him.

“No,” McCoy said, shaking his head. “You?”

She huffed. “Unfortunately, yes. He’s Matthew’s father. The man who’d like to put my family’s business in the ground. Strange that we’d see him here.”

“Matthew?” he repeated, his heart beginning to race.

The only Matthew that McCoy knew was Matthew the owner of The Book Heart.

The Matthew he’d talked to about his leg.

The Matthew that Jojo had liked.

Of course Jocelyn knew Matthew worked there. The Book Heart was Jojo’s favorite place. Jojo had talked nonstop about it to him. To _Jim_.

And McCoy had talked to Jim, too, hadn’t he?

He must have.

About the bookstore.

About Matthew.

The store that starts—

 _Fuck_.

Jim had told Treadway to meet him _there_ , the only goddamn place where he thought that someone would recognize him.

This was proof that Jim hadn’t lost all of his common sense. Not completely.

Not...yet.

“Matthew graduated with us. He owns the bookstore that Jojo likes,” Jocelyn continued, looking ahead and not paying attention to the fact that McCoy had stopped walking beside her and didn’t need her to explain a damn thing. “She’d go there every day if I let her.”

His heart clenched with fear, the truth of where Jim had gone somehow making this more real than ever. “He’s going to the bookstore,” he announced, his voice loud enough to stop all three of his companions in their tracks.

“What?” Jocelyn spun around, her brow wrinkled.

Spock’s head snapped around at the same time, his eyes narrowing on McCoy in question.

McCoy tried using the bond to tell Spock but he was met with an immovable object. A wall.

He really _had_ shielded him from Jim.

Did this mean Spock could finally sense more from Jim?

It made sense. McCoy didn’t understand how Jim has been able to shield in his drugged state in the first place.

Maybe now Jim was so out of it, trapped in some twisted, psychological state, that Spock had to block him from them both.

Officer Hamilton turned his head, glancing between them as if trying to understand what was being said through the shared silence.

McCoy swallowed back the lump in his throat. “You said the place Jim was headed for started with a B?”

Spock literally froze, as if he couldn’t believe McCoy had figured it out before anyone else, least of all him. That he knew where Jim was leading them. “Yes,” he said with a rare bite to his voice.

“I told him about it,” he said, illogically ashamed. “The bookstore.”

He couldn’t help but feel like he’d aided Jim somehow. By having the Agrediphine in his possession. Then telling Jim about the kind-hearted owner of Jojo’s favorite bookstore. And agreeing he could come to Georgia in the first place, forcing the man to endure treatment he shouldn’t have had to endure. Not after all he’d been through.

“The Book Heart. And Matthew. I told him about it all,” he clarified. “Jocelyn said Matthew’s father was the man who bumped into me. Maybe he was coming to the station to report…”

His voice trailed off as he realized that Hamilton was already speaking into his communicator, the officer’s eyes turned in the opposite direction from the one they’d been headed. “He’s still giving his report to the chief?” Hamilton asked into the comm, keeping one eye on McCoy. “He mentioned a possible holdup at his son’s business?”

Those were all the clues they needed. That bastard, Treadway, had blackmailed Jim into leaving his safe residence and out from under McCoy’s watchful eye, no doubt having dangled the safety of the ones he cared about most in front of him. Giving Jim no choice but to act alone.

“He’s there,” McCoy said simply.

“Where is it?” Spock demanded of Jocelyn. He was inches away from her, a dark, primal rage filling his eyes.

McCoy was taken aback. He’d never seen anything like it coming from Spock before.

“Spock, you know where it is,” McCoy said, confused as to why Spock had needed to ask the location of a place he’d driven them. “You _drove_ us there.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, the rage softening.

“I…” Spock blinked. “I do not know.”

Spock’s admission worried him. If _he_ was this emotionally compromised, where would _that_ leave them?

Even Jocelyn looked concerned. “There, Mr. Spock,” she explained quietly, pointing in the same direction that the officer was looking. “Cross the intersection. It’s almost half-way down the next block. A gray building on your left. You’d get there faster on foot now that traffic has picked up again.”

Hamilton covered the speaker on his device. “The transporters are down all over the city. We have to get there the old-fashioned way. Our witness said there were at least two men in the store with his son.”

“Shit,” McCoy swore.

And just like that, Spock took off, disappearing into a crowd of people that was quickly coming toward them.

“He should wait for back-up,” Hamilton said sharply.

McCoy began to walk backwards. There was no time to tell him what Spock had done to Khan. “He _is_ the backup,” he retorted. “Make sure that ambulance is there. And Jocelyn—”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking like she had at his mother’s house. Scared. Lost. Like someone who had no business seeing Treadway face-to-face. “Yes?”

He stared at her. “For your own safety, don’t follow me.”

Who knew if she would heed his warning, but he wasn’t responsible for her. He didn't have the time, or focus, to be worried about her safety.

Chief Larrett was right.

Jim and Joanna. _They_ were the people he was responsible for. Spock, too.

But of the three, the one person who needed him the most didn’t stand a chance against the ex-boxer, let alone a chance against the drugs he’d taken, was _Jim_.

He turned around and raced after Spock, but remained a considerable distance behind despite his best efforts to keep up. Spock was one fast son of a bitch, and he—McCoy—was only human. He also carried the medical supplies that would keep Jim alive. It was a lot to carry, especially when even more anxiety had wrapped itself around his body like a heavy chain.

It was pure luck that they’d beamed into the police station, only to learn just outside the building that someone had reported a possible hold-up at The Book Heart.

Pure damn luck. _Kirkian_ luck.

Of all the locations Jim could have chosen, he’d chosen _there_.

This clue was the hope they needed, this realization that Jim had been thinking about the ridiculous situation he was putting himself in—and his friends—all along.

That decision could be the one thing that gave Jim a fighting chance, if McCoy could get there in time.

He barely looked both ways before crossing the intersection, tripping over his own feet when a small hovercraft beeped its horn at him.

He jolted back, his life passing before him in the blink of an eye. The driver of the craft had missed him by an inch, unable to steer clear of him because of the hovercrafts both beside and above him.

“Move outta the way!” the driver shouted, his face obscured by shadows though he’d stuck his head out the window.

Move? He wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t feel right. The world was passing him by, leaving him behind.

Was this what happened to emotionally compromised doctors of reckless captains? When enough finally became enough? Had he finally reached his breaking point?

He thought he’d had no breaking point.

Then Jim had died.

He’d kept it together then.

So he kept telling himself.

Then Treadway had showed up on his mama’s front porch.

And he still kept telling himself...

“Hey!”

McCoy jerked his head up at the angry shout.

The driver stuck his head further out the window. “Somethin’ wrong with ya?”

Wrong with him? What _wasn’t_ wrong with him?

His best friend had first lied then betrayed him.

His captain had taken things into his own hands without any thought to what impact his decisions would make on Starfleet and his position as captain. Or the impact on _McCoy’s_ position with Boyce and Starfleet Medical.

The man he loved had taken a drug that, if he were to be honest, could have side effects that even he couldn’t completely anticipate.

The drug was new. Tested, but not as thoroughly with the type of combination of drugs already coursing through Jim’s system, and certainly not with the adrenaline. Just enough for McCoy to know that one dose, along with his supervision, was all that Jim’s fragile body could handle. That one dose would have kept him alive had his body begun to shut down. But two?

McCoy wasn’t sure he’d recover if his best friend lost his life because of him and his desire to be prepared for _anything_ while Jim convalesced in Georgia.

McCoy looked down, and his breath caught. His hands, the ones responsible for getting Jim well without harming him, the so-called steadiest hands on the ship, were a mess. They shook uncontrollably like Jim’s hands have for days.

His hands hovered over the front of the craft, like he had the power to stop it.

Ironic, when he felt completely powerless.

The driver cursed. “Do ya wanna get killed?”

He shoved himself away from the craft, ignoring the endless rant behind him as he hurried down the street in silence.

He had to focus, dig deep to find that core of steely willpower he’d used to bring Jim back from the dead.

Jim needed him to be the strong one, not the hurt friend. Not the worried almost-lover. Not the Starfleet officer drowning in self-pity. Nothing but the doctor who could keep him in alive at all costs.

Like he always did.

The drumming of his heart in his ears drowned out the sound of people and traffic. He shouldered through a thick crowd of teenagers like a battering ram, aware of every beat of his heart, every stray thought that doused his hope.

A blonde man with his own will of steel and reckless abandon filled his vision, fueling him with the determination he needed to press on.

“Hey, man!”

McCoy never heard the angry passersby, but stepped on toes and shoved kids aside without looking at their faces or anything else that could possibly distract him.

Jim. _Jim_. He had to get to Ji—

He saw a thinning in the wall of bodies and, with another spurt of speed, pushed forward. He broke free of the crowd with a grunt, frantically looking down the street. He jogged, looking around once. Then twice.

The area ahead of him was peculiarly void of a Vulcan.

Shit.

He’d lost Spock.

How the hell had he lo—

He stumbled to a halt, tilting his head back and staring up at the buildings lining the street for the first time.

What had Jocelyn said? Red building? No...gray.

Wait, he knew where the store was. Didn’t he?

He wasn’t quite halfway down the street. He was close. But where was Spock? Where could he have gone?

He had no clue.

He was on his own.

He decided to run.

It was all he _could_ do while Jim met with Treadway, making what could be the biggest mistake of his life.

Run.

Find Jim.

Push his hurt and disappointment aside.

_Save Jim._

He was out of breath, his stomach locked in a painful, grueling vise of nerves, but he pressed on. He forced one foot in front of the other. If he didn’t, Jim would not have the proper medical care he needed.

He wouldn't fail him.

Not for all the world.

He almost missed it.

Spock emerged from seemed to be thin air, the Vulcan backing away from the building, onto the sidewalk. Confused, McCoy faltered. That had to be the building. Why was Spock leaving?

Then Spock raised his arm, a murderous expression on his face that McCoy could see from afar under the streetlights, and fired the phaser that he held in his hand.

McCoy’s heart lodged in his throat.

Oh, God. _No_.

He sprinted the last several hundred yards, running like he was a man twenty years younger. Like Matthew had as quarterback, before he’d lost his le—

Christ, _Matthew_. He’s probably there, in the middle of this fucking mess. If Treadway had harmed Matthew, Jim would never forgive himself.

Fuck, neither would McCoy. He was an innocent man. A respected man. Jojo would be heartbroken...

Spock fired steadily.

Sirens wailed behind them.

Or maybe they had been all along.

“Spock!” he shouted, quickly coming upon the Vulcan. “Where is he?”

Spock rammed himself into the door like he’d never heard him.

Something flashed into sight. A glimpse of something pale beyond the commander, in the large front window.

Of something black.

His first thought was that of leather jacket of Jim’s that he had worn over the years, a staple of his civilian wardrobe.

His second thought was that pale, cold skin could accompany an overdose.

_Dear God._

That was _Jim_.

“Jesus, Spock!” he cried, waving his arms to try to get the commander's attention when words didn’t seem to do the trick. “The fucking window! The damned window!”

Treadway was bashing Jim’s body—his head—into the glass.

Spock stepped back and turned his head, a desperation contorting his face when he finally saw it, too.

The window vibrated—fucking vibrated—as Jim’s body hit it again.

McCoy’s heart dropped. What the hell kind of damage was Treadway inflicting? Jim’s body couldn't take another battering, not even with the drugs. A concussion could set him back. Broken bones would set him back, both conditions requiring a body that functioned normally to recover. Both requiring an immune system that was in full working order.

Things Jim simply did not have.

McCoy was a man who could endure tough situations, more so than the average CMO, given the trouble Jim Kirk naturally attracted.

But he was unprepared to see the body of his best friend flying through the air and hitting the hard, wet sidewalk with a sickening thud.

And Treadway’s two-hundred fifty pound, muscled body slamming into it.

The window had shattered into a million pieces.

Some of those pieces had to be lodged into Jim’s body. The rest were strewn along the sidewalk, a mocking display of light and brilliance.

_Jim had been brilliant once._

McCoy would make sure that he was again, if it was the last thing he ever did in this life.

“No!” McCoy roared.

The cry erupted from his chest, loosening the heavy weight of desperation that had been trapped there, requiring only the right moment for it to be released.

Treadway grabbed Jim with both arms, yanking him to his feet.

McCoy saw a blur of blood and panic and triumph and Jim’s dazed— _nearly blank_ — expression.

Spock entered the mix, and fists flew, Jim caught in the middle.

McCoy stood apart, feeling more helpless than he’d ever felt in his life. A sob caught in his throat without his noticing, and he was only vaguely aware of the commotion behind him.

“Hold your fire!” Hamilton ordered. “You could get the captain! He can’t take that kind of hit.”

Jim? Stunned?

McCoy wasn’t sure Jim would survive that.

He couldn’t make heads or tails as to who had who locked in a fight.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Just fucking stood there. He only saw Jim’s body, Jim’s newly broken and bleeding body, being abused and beaten. The apparent overdose evident in his white skin and sluggish response. His body like a rag doll in Treadway’s grip.

And out of reach from McCoy’s healing hands.

Spock lunged and gripped Treadway’s shoulder, his fingers fumbling for the proper nerves to pinch and render him unconscious. Treadway let out an outraged cry, his head snapping back into Spock’s in what had to be an act of desperation.

Spock stumbled back, expression dazed.

It was the window the ex-boxer needed to gain the upperhand. Treadway grabbed the scruff of Jim’s neck—his best friend who wasn’t responsive save for the wide-eyed look of helplessness he wore—and dragged him away like he was nothing to him.

_When he was everything to McCoy._

Spock wavered on his feet, slowly straightening his body.

McCoy stepped forward.

“It’s over, Treadway,” Hamilton stated. “You’re surrounded. Let the captain go now, and things will go easier for you.”

“No deal,” Treadway snarled, dragging Jim’s body closer to his own like a shield. “Stay right where you are, McCoy. _Everybody_.”

McCoy froze. “Please,” he said hoarsely through his short, frantic breaths. “Let him go. He’s sick.”

“I know what he is.” Treadway jerked his head towards the cops. “And I ain’t lettin’ him go until they put their weapons down.”

“So you can kill him?” he asked.

Treadway tsked. “Now, now. I never said anything about that.”

“He was planning on it,” a voice sounded from within the store.

Matthew, the bookstore owner, stepped out the door with a limp, his hands up.

A phaser dangled from his fingers. McCoy was relieved to see that other than the limp, he didn’t seem to be harmed.

“This was set to kill.” Matthew looked over at the police. “Could be he planned on killing all of us, until Kirk ruined his plans.”

Spock glanced back at McCoy. Had Jim been able to foil Treadway’s plans?

Jim didn't look like a man who had any reserves left. He looked completely stoned, his body on the brink of crashing.

McCoy silently begged the Vulcan to get their friend back at all costs.

Treadway didn’t need a phaser to kill Jim. He could do that with his brute strength. Strength that nearly matched that of a half-Vulcan.

“I don’t have to kill him.” Treadway laughed. “Look at him. He’s done that to himself. The fucker didn’t even have the sense to stop at one hit of whatever he stole from your stash, Doc.”

McCoy couldn’t help but obey the bastard. He looked at Jim. He wasn’t even sure if Jim had heard him. His head was limply hanging down, sagging like the rest of his body.

All the signs were there.

Something wasn’t right with Jim.

Something wasn’t right at all.

And everyone on the street had either seen it or heard it, without the correct context.

Fuck, this was going to be a disaster.

“He isn’t well. He had no choice. Just let him go,” he pleaded again. He reached for straws and added, “You have what you wanted. The money, don’t you?”

Treadway’s eyes flickered with curiosity.

A ripple of satisfaction coursed through McCoy’s chest. “It’s what you wanted from Jocelyn, wasn’t it?” he continued. “Well, you have it now. Jim came through for you.”

“And what? You’ll let me go?” Treadway asked, his eyes teeming with distrust. “I don’t see that happening. In fact, I don’t see a hell of a lot happening, after all.”

Treadway paused and, keeping one arm locked around Jim’s neck, reached into the captain’s jacket, keeping his eyes trained on McCoy.

Nausea swelled upwards, into his throat. He tamped it down, fighting the fear that Treadway knew just what he was looking for. What he—McCoy—would be looking for if he had been born a man bent on destroying people’s lives.

Another hypo.

Fuck, Jim had to have the other hypo stashed in his pocket. He wouldn’t have just packed the thing away, not in his drugged state.

Agrediphine would have given him the feeling that he needed more, a lot more, at whatever cost, just seconds after taking the first dose. In a strange way, it was part of the psychology that would have helped keep Jim alive had McCoy been forced to use it.

At this moment, McCoy was sure that Jim longed to fulfill his craving, the thrill long term drug use would give him, and nothing else. The desire would fill the captain’s every thought, whether if he thought it was wrong or not, or if he hadn’t used the drugs for pleasure to begin with.

If Spock sensed this from Jim, it explained the commander’s inconsistent behavior. Spock must be shielding it from him, in order to keep McCoy’s head as clear as possible so he could treat Jim without impairment.

McCoy had a horrible sinking feeling that coming down from the drug would be an entirely different hell from the drug therapy.

That Jim would hate him even if they came out on the other side of this.

That in Jim’s weakest moments during a detox, he—McCoy—would barely manage to remain level-headed.

“Ah, yes,” Treadway said smoothly, pulling his hand out Jim’s jacket. “Here we go.”

Treadway twirled the hypo in his fingers, a casual, baiting gesture.

McCoy clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug painfully into his skin.

“Dr. McCoy?” Hamilton asked softly from beside him. “You’re going to have to tell us which is the greater threat.”

He felt numb.

He had no idea.

No fucking clue.

“McCoy?” Hamilton prodded again.

“Wait,” he rasped.

He feared the effects of the stun would be more detrimental, causing seizure or death, or rendering Jim in a coma.

But that was without Agrediphine.

With Agrediphine, Jim’s chances of survival were slim to none.

But _another_ dose of the drug?

God help him...

“Not yet,” he said more firmly, the same voice he’d use in his sickbay.

Still, doubts assailed him.

Was he making _his_ worst mistake?

“Wise move, McCoy.” Treadway’s triumphant smile sickened him. “I figured Kirk had brought another fix with him. But as I was saying. The way I see it—”

Treadway held the hypo at Jim’s chest, near his heart.

McCoy choked. “God, no—”

The human body could only endure so much.

A _friendship_ could only endure so much.

Bodies—officers—moved in beside him. From the corner of his eyes he saw Spock creep forward as Treadway’s attention was diverted.

And Jim...Jim was staring off into space, unaware.

“—I’m going down, anyway,” Treadway said in an eerily calm voice. “One way or another. Too bad I couldn’t play _daddy_ to your brat, McCoy.”

It took him a second to realize what Treadway meant. A second too long.

Rage coursed through McCoy. “You bastard, if I find out that you touched her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Treadway taunted. “I don’t think so. You’re as naive as Joanna is, McCoy.”

Jim lifted his head, his eyes ever so slightly more focused at the mention of Jojo’s name incidentally baring his body even more to his captor.

Treadway’s finger twitched. “ _They_ want me alive. Starfleet. The police. How else will they connect the dots as to how I got so close to Chapel and Marcus?”

Jim’s body trembled from head to toe, his eyes darting about in drugged agitation.

_His best friend didn’t even know he was there._

“Jim,” McCoy whispered. “Look at me.”

Time stood still.

It was enough.

He sent a message through the bond, fighting with all that he had to get through to Jim until Spock lifted the shields for them all.

Not much, but just enough for McCoy to understand that underneath Jim’s agitation and despondency and his fresh and intense cravings to feel _good_ again and — oh, God, his _hallucinations_ —guilt and regret festered like an open wound.

McCoy’s eyes filled with tears he didn't bother to wipe away.

He allowed them to slip down his cheeks for Jim to see, as proof that he _loved_ him.

_I love you, Jim._

_I forgive you._

_I will never leave you._

_Not even this can tear us apart._

_Not even this._

_I promise you._

_Ya hear me, Jim?_

Jim squinted in his direction.

How had McCoy not realized how much _blood_ was on his face?

“‘ones?” Jim rasped softly.

_Yeah, Jim. It’s Bones. I’m here. I’m here, I promi—_

“You’re too late, McCoy,” Treadway mocked, coaxing a heartbreaking whimper from the captain.

_Don’t listen to him, Jim. I’m gonna get you out of this. All of it. I swear on my father’s grave that I am._

“Far, far too late,” the taunts continued in a false voice of reason. “You see, if I’m going down—”

Treadway plunged the hypospray into Jim’s chest.

Jim gasped a painfully hollow breath, his face locking in a silent, twisted scream.

It shook McCoy to the core.

“—it’s only reasonable that I take him down with me, too.”

A strangled wheeze escaped Jim’s lips.

Like _death_.

 

It was the last thing McCoy heard before all hell broke loose.

 

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

 

**To: Philip Boyce, M.D., Chief of Staff, Starfleet Medical  
From: Leonard McCoy, M.D., CMO Enterprise  
Stardate: 2259.1870  
Time: 1926 hours  
Status: READ**

_Situation critical. Treadway on the run. Jim is missing._

_We have reason to believe that Treadway blackmailed Jim into meeting him. Overdose likely. Jim first took 80 mgs Agrediphine and an equivalent second dose before leaving the house. Epinephrine to follow. Possibly more..._

_I believe Jim made his decision already emotionally compromised._

_Need immediate access to Atlanta Memorial to treat him once he is found._

 

 

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

 

 

**To: Leonard McCoy, M.D., CMO Enterprise  
From: Philip Boyce, M.D., Chief of Staff, Starfleet Medical  
Stardate: 2259.1870  
Time: 1939 hours  
Status: UNREAD**

 

 

_Access will be granted. A beta blocker will be necessary, but do not cause Jim more harm through treatment at this time. **Complete detox not recommended.** Beaming 50 mgs of Agrediphine to be administered intravenously at .5mg/hr with an initial dose of 2 mgs, diluted, via rapid IV push, once his condition is stabilized. Increase as necessary. It will keep him comfortable and lessen his agitation without placing undue stress on his body while we continue to monitor his condition._

_I will be there as soon as I can._

_Remember, Leonard. You are not alone._

 

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Non-consensual drug use, some violence, emotional angst, implied (as in possibility only) sexual child abuse 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kind reviews are always appreciated and loved. ;) 
> 
> I'll try to update in a week again! Until then!
> 
> AUTHOR's NOTE #3: Thank you to all of you who are reading oh so very patiently and enjoying the story. This probably isn't a note for you, but for other people. I moderate comments for a reason - quite simply, I don't have the mental or even emotional energy to deal with negative ones. Writing this with sweat and tears drains me enough, and then finding my courage to post it on top of that. This story is VERY personal to me, for reasons I'm not going into except to say it's almost like therapy for me to write it. And this might be news for some - fanfic authors DON'T GET PAID! Negative reviews can destroy inspiration, for one. Two, they're usually judgments that should have been held off until more things unfold. 
> 
> That's why delete them or refuse to publish them. As an unpaid fanfic author, I feel like it's my right to do so. 
> 
> If you don't like this story or the way things are going, you can either stop reading and go enjoy a fic you really like OR read knowing that I have a point to everything I am doing in this fic and then patiently wait as things unfold. And know that I can't tell you or hint about it - or it will ruin the element of surprise. 
> 
> Well, that's all I'm going to say about that for now. Hopefully ya'll understand why I'm even addressing this. I honestly don't want or need this kind of negativity in my life. Thank you. <3


	20. I didn't want this war (only your love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had every intention of writing and finishing this chapter before the weekend (because I actually had more time on my hands). Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Spring Break for everyone last week, and apparently my brain needed a vacation, too.
> 
> Many thanks to plumeria47, junker5, and diamondblue4 for helping me with this update, and going above and beyond with edits and comments! I have to say that you all really helped me through the writing process this weekend, especially since this chapter felt more like a millstone around my neck than the milestone that posting the 20th chapter should be (okay, that was really cheesy LOL). 
> 
> This first scene was a real pain-in-the-you-know-what to write, and even "I" thought about wringing Jim's neck for the tough time he gave me while I attempted (over and over) (and over again) to write from his trippy POV. But now the P I T A scene and the accompanying P I T A chapter are complete - no thanks to Jim - and you get to read it while I go vent some more...
> 
> In all seriousness, I hope you enjoy the read. As noted above, this chapter begins with Jim, backtracking to about when he began fighting with Treadway but was losing the battle...
> 
> Important warnings in the end notes to avoid spoilers. Please look at them if you are easily triggered.

Deep down he knew that he should be afraid.

Years of training and experience, of suffering and loss, told him that.

 

 

Someone had battered his body.

Someone other than himself was in control.

And something was wrong with him.

He should be afraid.

 

 

_But he wasn’t._

 

Everything he looked at was hazy and glowing, calling to him with its beauty. Like seductive sirens luring sailors of old from their ships and into the dangerous water. Like the shining stars that had called him into the vastness of space.

Their ships.

_His ship._

_The Enterprise._

 

 

Was he flying?

He thought he was.

He wanted to be.

He missed his ship, but...maybe he didn't need to. Maybe he was _there_. Back on the bridge.

Was this a fantasy?

Or was it real?

He had to be flying.

_It had to be real._

It was freedom.

It was exhilarating.

It was happiness.

 

 

_Until it hurt._

 

 

God, it hurt.

The pain made him want to retch.

It hurt, and he didn’t know why.

 

 

Along his skull.

Across his shoulders.

Deep in his side.

His entire bod—

 

 

His thoughts suddenly scattered, shattering into an infinite number of scintillating pieces. A sense of calm bore down on him from the top of his head, bringing a warmth that spread like light throughout his body.

It gave him a few seconds to think clearly. Silence and breath were his again. His surroundings came into focus, a window into reality for a brief instant. His awareness grew, but he still had no idea where he was—or what he was doing.

 

 

He thought he’d been resting on a hard and unyielding surface, but someone had yanked him to his feet.

His limbs were loose.

His mind even looser.

He had a nagging feeling that he should be registering pain, at least, but he brushed any curiosity he had about it aside.

 

 

He didn’t think.

He didn't cry.

He didn't fight.

_He didn't care._

 

 

His part was done, though he didn’t know what his part had been.

He was free.

He could fly.

He could let go.

He could _feel_ this freedom.

 

 

_He could let go._

 

He sank into the sensation, a feeling that both baffled him and sated a number of unfamiliar urges.

He craved more, and let himself melt.

Sinking deeper.

 _Deeper_.

Fulfilling a longing.

But he couldn't remember what he was longing for.

 

 

He let go—only to be caught.

The feeling comforted him, bringing him a sense of safety, of rescue.

_And he wanted it to._

He was relieved wanting the comfort to continue without end.

 

 

He was cared for.

He was happy.

 _Fulfilled_.

He couldn’t remember the last time he'd felt this good.

He longed for it to never end.

 

 

_Until the moment his memories returned, cascading through his mind._

 

 

Things that he wished to never see again flashed before him.

Things that he’d never seen before, too.

Nightmares.

Forewarnings.

A grotesque mixture of past and present.

A part of him, yet separate.

He tried to shake the images away, purge them from his thoughts, but they held onto him, locking him in a vise.

And, eventually, helplessly, he stopped fighting the flood of images.

He could do nothing but embrace them.

His body went limp, and his mind did, too.

He didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of the situation, but the truth stared him in the face.

 

 

He was helpless.

 

_In everything._

 

 

Vulcans descended upon him like birds of prey, and he did nothing but watch as their planet crumbled.

Pale-faced, frozen bodies awakened from an icy slumber, their eyes haunted as they flashed accusingly, their gaze lancing straight through him, before fading into the starry dust of the cosmos.

Then a pair of hazel eyes pierced him, red with anger or fear or both.

 

 

_It was too much._

_It was not enough._

 

More.

He needed more.

More of something— _anything_ —to make things right.

 

 

The flashes of clarity didn't last, and he hungered for more. More of whatever it was that had shot through his blood like wildfire.

Just as quickly as the nightmares had come, they disappeared until he was floating on a soft cloud as before, away from them all.

But he wasn't alone.

Sounds clamored for his attention all too soon, taking their place.

 

 

He was loose and free and helpless—

 

 

He couldn't think straight.

Couldn't keep track—

 

 

 

But he was happy.

_Everything glowed._

Why couldn’t he stand on his ow—

 

 

He jolted, his happiness disrupted by urgent, angry voices.

Things were happening too fast for him to process and understand.

 

 

_Shouts._

_Pleas._

_Orders._

His mind reeled, bowing in pain as if it were being wrenched in two.

A name, a desperate plea on someone’s lips.

The hoarse words, breaking through his thoughts.

 

 

 _Jim_.

 

 

His name.

 

 

 _Jim_.

 

 

His name.

 

 

 _Jim_.

 

 

 

Startled, he blinked, opening his eyes wide.

_Bones?_

He thought he saw him, but just like that, he was gone.

 

 

_Gone._

 

 

Profound sadness washed over him, intermingled with longing.

Where was he?

He couldn't keep his eyes open to search.

It was too bright, everywhere he looked.

 

 

Too dark.

Too loud.

Too quiet.

Too blurry.

Too clear.

Too...everything.

 

 

But it felt so _right_.

 

 

It felt _good_.

 

 

Felt ri—

 _Jim_.

 

 

Bones was here?

Jim should tell him that he felt good.

The therapy must have worked and he needed more.

More of...of _something_.

 

 

He wished he knew what he needed.

He was beginning to enjoy this.

And where it had taken him, whatever it was.

_It felt too good to fight._

 

 

 _Jim_.

 

 

Spock? Spock was here?

Did he know Jim was here, too?

He should be afraid, but he wasn’t. His body shook like it would never stop. He couldn’t control it.

 _More_ would stop it. The seductive whisper wound through his mind.

He should tell him that. Bones. And Spock. When he saw them next.

More.

He needed more.

_More. More. More—_

 

 

He should tell him other things, too.

About the way his blood had warmed.

That his blood had suddenly grown chilled.

That his heart had finally constricted in fear.

 

 

That he was sorry, so sorry, even when he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for—

 

 

He heard it again.

 _Jim_.

 

 

“‘ones?”

A hand encompassed his neck, squeezing any more words he may have had out of existence.

But not for long.

The pressure all but disappeared, **and a strange sensation exploded in his chest, instead.**

He couldn’t breathe, see, or hear— _anything_.

He was afraid.

Terrified.

Confused.

 _Alone_.

 

 

Was this guilt?

A betrayal he didn’t even remember?

_Or something else?_

 

 

The sensation stole the comfort of Bones away before he could even think to snatch it back.

But there were other things that vied for his attention, to replace it.

Voices that weren't even his.

At the first sound, his breath caught painfully in his throat, lodged there like an ice pick.

His thoughts froze, too, time magnifying the horrors he witnessed with his own eyes.

 

 

He no longer felt good.

Or right.

Or free.

He couldn’t think.

_He couldn't breathe._

He couldn’t get away.

He didn’t understand.

He felt like he was imploding.

Like Vulcan.

 

 

_Like Vulcan._

 

 

Voices of the dying ripped harshly through his ears.

Hundreds of them.

Thousands.

 _Billions_.

They screamed until their very last breath, then the screams began again, this time directed at _him_.

Anguish filled his heart, yet he couldn’t blame them for their accusations. It had been his fault.

 

 

_His fault._

 

 

God, he couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t.

He screamed in his head, helpless beneath their relentless assault.

Finding his hidden places, and battering him until he was deeply bruised.

 

 

Begging was not enough.

No one heard him.

No one freed him.

No one.

 

 

 _Alone_.

 

 

He needed Bones.

Bones would make it stop.

Bones would take care of everything.

Bones would fix this.

Bones loved him.

He’d find a way make it all disappear, wouldn’t he?

 

 

 _Alone_.

 

 

He heard them.

He saw them.

_He was them._

He didn’t say their names, though he knew exactly who they were.

Vulcans.

They clamored around him, shrieking their hatred at him as their mental shields shattered, their controls lost forever.

 _Vulcans_.

 

 

_And he was one of them._

 

 

He felt like he was dying, and he deserved it.

All of it.

It was his fault.

 

 

_His fault._

 

 

The planet crumpled into itself until there was nothing left.

 _Nothing_.

It vanished, out of sight but not out of mind, leaving only darkness in its place.

He’d killed them with his mistakes.

 _His_.

It was his greatest defeat.

He would never be able to pay for his mistakes. Not completely.

Horror and shame at what he’d done shook him to his core. Emotions he could not suppress, not even when he employed all of his controls.

A scream rose from his throa—

 

 

Just as abruptly it stopped, frozen in time.

 

 

It was his pain to bear.

His alone.

 

 

_His fault._

 

 

**There was a horrible pain in his chest.**

 

 

He’d forgotten about it.

Was this what the Vulcans had felt, dying a terror-filled death?

In a blink, his breath came back to him, along with the thoughts that had filled his mind, captured in seconds...

It didn’t make sense.

It was too sudden, too unexpected.

The force of it all stunned him.

It was painful, overwhelming, beautiful, confusing, dangerous and peaceful, all at once.

It slammed into him like a ton of bricks and he could do nothing to stop it.

 

 

Where was he?

Was this Vulcan?

Was this Earth?

What was happening to him?

 

 

_Was he imploding, too?_

 

 

Hysteria took over.

And then he knew.

 

 

_He was going mad._

 

 

It was the only explanation.

He had entered a place that was broken and alluring, and his own fau—

 

 

_Jim, I’m here._

 

 

The voice in his head stopped _everything_.

He cried out.

He tried to respond to the voice, to the man he loved more than anything.

He failed.

 

 

He tried again, because he didn't want _this_.

He didn’t...

He didn’t want to disappear.

Or lose himself.

Or betray Bones—

 

 

 _Never_.

 

 

_Vulcan._

_Bones._

_Christine._

_Danger._

_Red mat—_

 

 

Ice surged through his body.

But it wasn't from anything he'd done.

He didn’t know who had caused it.

Whatever it was, it was enough to quiet his inner storm.

 

 

 _Enough_.

 

 

He pushed the feeble whisper past his lips—and with a rally of strength, shoved away from the body behind him, the hands holding him down.

 

 

 

It was the only way that he would get—

 

 

**—more.**

 

 

oOo

 

 

 

Spock could not deny himself the rage flooding his body, a terrifying yet satisfying rush that heated his blood with each passing second.

He could not deny himself this feeling, no more than he could deny the existence of a fragile bond. The connection that had formed between him and his two dearest companions.

A bond, when he had not yet formally bonded with Nyota. A familial bond that had altered the course of his life.

Like the bond, this rage pulsed in his mind, substantial and real. The rage swiftly became a torrent, its greedy fingers reaching out to latch onto the very one who had harmed the captain. Whereas the bond filled him with a strong desire to protect his bond-brothers, the all-consuming, feverish rage greedily anticipated its next victim.

The rage was familiar. The same primal passion he had experienced while in pursuit of Khan, reborn. A desperation to save what was his, to retain its beauty before it was destroyed. Before their bond was destroyed and left incomplete.

Was this what the ambassador had foretold?

_A friendship that would define them both._

It was not logical. It was not convenient.

There was no other answer but _yes_.

What he felt for Jim went beyond friendship or love. It was honor and companionship and loyalty and—

It was almost as terrifying as the need for revenge he felt toward Treadway.

_It was indescribable._

Treadway man-handled his captain like he was a puppet, manipulating his strings, his body to his will. Though he was surrounded by law enforcement officials, and his escape unlikely, his attention remained fixed on Jim.

Spock’s attention remained on both captor and victim, slipping out of sight as he rounded on Treadway.

McCoy, though he must be aware of the crushing hold Treadway had on Jim, saw only the captain.

Who, in his helpless state, had just been given a dose of another stimulant, the effects of the combination of drugs unpredictable.

Time stretched as they waited for Treadway to relinquish his hold on the captain, five seconds longer than their chronological period implied.

But then Jim gasped for air.

The officers tightened their holds on their phasers. Treadway smirked confidently. McCoy’s eyes filled with unmistakable terror.

Spock reacted on instinct.

Relying on his Vulcan telepathic abilities, he forged a path to Treadway while triggering the bond with Leonard and Jim, bringing them to action.

Power surged through all of them before the police could react.

McCoy sprang forward with a raging cry, bent on rescuing Jim from Treadway no matter the cost to himself.

Jim shoved away from his unsuspecting captor. It was a valiant final show of strength, though misguided due to his severe craving. Unsurprisingly, the captain quickly collapsed, weightlessly, into McCoy’s waiting and open arms.

Spock tackled Treadway, knocking the ex-boxer off his feet with a growl. They flew through the open window, hitting the floor of the bookshop, and rolling.

The impact did not stop either of them, but it did it delay the law officials behind them. The police could not fire on Treadway in confidence that they would miss _him_.

Spock rose to his feet first. They were already hidden in the shadows, as he desired them to be. The ex-boxer bared his teeth with a vengeful cry and charged towards him, over-confident and lacking control.

Treadway did not get far. In three swift moves, Spock trapped the criminal’s arms and held him against his chest, mimicking the strong choke hold in which Treadway had captured Jim.

Spock dragged Treadway’s struggling body deeper into the bookstore, finding another shadowy area in which he could contain him, away from the watchful eyes of the police.

They came to a door, and he opened it. After shoving Treadway inside, he stepped in and locked the door behind him, duly noting they had entered a small closet.

“Who is watching Nurse Chapel?” he growled in Treadway’s ear, stopping when they reached the wall. “Where are they?”

“I’ll never tell,” Treadway rasped defiantly.

Spock released him abruptly, causing him to crash hard onto the floor, having manipulated the fall so that the other man’s arm bore the brunt of his weight.

Treadway moaned as he inched his way into the corner, dragging his useless arm on the floor. “Fuck, I think you broke it,” he cried.

Voices beyond the door carried inside, calling for them.

But Spock was undeterred.

“You will tell me,” Spock ordered, towering over him.

Treadway tilted his head back, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. “Or w-what? Y-you’ll make me? Another broken arm won't make me talk.”

Did he not understand that he could _make him_ without much effort of his own? That he _would_ before he unlocked the door and the police found them? That revenge charged Spock’s actions? That it did not matter to him if he committed a crime in the eyes of Vulcan?

The thoughts lifted the corners of Spock lips but he forced them down. “There are other ways,” he said threateningly.

He stared at Treadway, waiting until the other man’s eyes widened in acknowledgment.

“Y-you wouldn’t—” Treadway stammered.

Spock sent him a dark look, his reply deafening and intimidating in the silence.

The other man scrambled backward with a curse, trying to press himself into the wall, though the desperate attempt to escape was futile. He had nowhere to go.

This would not take long. A few seconds, and Spock would have what he needed.

And Treadway...he would inevitably suffer, yet not enough to provoke suspicion. Treadway would not even remember this moment. The police would not know. Neither would Jim or Leonard.

This would be on _his_ conscience. His and his alone.

Treadway’s eyes lost their defiance and filled with fear, his face whitening in the dimmed light.

Spock reveled in it.

Because of Treadway, Jim had suffered. Leonard had suffered. Jim’s crew had suffered. _Joanna_ , an innocent young child, and her mother had suffered. Relationships had been damaged, even severed.

And he could not help but think that what Treadway had done to Jim would affect him not for a week or even four weeks in the hospital—but indefinitely. That what he had done—by setting this series of events into motion, culminating in Jim being injected with more drugs—had been more damaging to Jim than they knew or could understand at this time.

 _Unacceptable_.

“Y-you fucker, th-this doesn’t change an-an-anything,” Treadway babbled. “They’ll d-do it, they’ll kill them anyway, and y-your captain is useless, gonna be a helluva withdra—”

“Silence!” Spock demanded.

Treadway’s mouth snapped shut, but not before he whimpered pathetically.

“You tire me, human,” Spock hissed through clenched teeth.

Treadway shrank back, favoring his injured arm.

Before the vile, unrepentant man could make another sound, Spock reached down. He spread his fingers, confidently pressing them into the melding points of the criminal’s face—

_He would ensure that Treadway would never hurt another human being again._

—and intruded on his mind with a controlled, logical and self-serving rage.

 

 

oOo

 

 

Jocelyn had rarely listened to Leonard’s advice when they’d been married, preferring to rely on common sense, instinct, and self-preservation, the qualities that had served her well in her professional life. She didn’t know why he expected her to listen to him now. Not that she didn’t understand his reasoning in asking her to stay behind at the police station. She understood completely. Leonard was first and foremost a doctor. Always. He protected and healed. He would never ignore a person in a vulnerable situation. Not even her, his ex-wife.

Clay was a volatile man, more so than she’d ever imagined. Or wanted to imagine.

But now his time was up. He was headed straight for prison. Of that much she was sure. His past had finally caught up to him, no thanks to her. Could she have _been_ more oblivious?

A part of her heart, the one she’d opened up to love again after Leonard, was still broken. Yearning for the tender man he’d portrayed m himself to be during the first weeks of their relationship. Yearning for what she’d scorned during her marriage with Leonard.

Watching Clay practically strangle Jim, only to inject a drug in his chest, put an end to that.

And then there was Joanna…

She’d heard Clay’s appalling words to Leonard about Joanna with her own ears.

She was still trying to grasp them.

She was still trying to reconcile what she’d thought her life had been with what it really was.

_A farce._

Her parents had not raised her to be this weak, or this naive. She wasn’t raising Joanna to be like that, either. Where had she gone wrong? Would her family ever come back from this?

She was in shock, most likely. She had to be. How could Clay do this? How could she have been so stupid?

He’d been smooth, his confidence veiling a sickening evil, and she’d fallen for him. She would have never forgiven herself if her innocent daughter had suffered at the hands of a monster. A psychopath who cared for no one but himself.

She vowed never to love again and risk hurting Joanna in the process. It would be the safest way to raise her daughter. The only way. She couldn’t trust herself with another man. She knew that now. So far she’d raised Joanna mostly on her own. And that’s what she could continue to do. She knew dozens of single parents.

She’d just never thought that she’d be one of them.

“Jim!”

The voice brought her back to the scene transpiring before her eyes. She tried peering around the bodies in front of her, looking for the face of that familiar voice. The guttural cry had come from her ex-husband.

She caught sight of Leonard first, who suddenly launched himself at Jim.

Treadway and Spock, locked in a fearsome struggle, disappeared into the bookstore through the shattered window. Law enforcement cautiously followed them inside, and she inched forward until she was able to peer inside the dim bookstore.

But she couldn’t see either Clay or Spock, only the backs of the police moving forward.

She started forward again, nudging the police officer blocking her way. “Let me through,” she commanded, but her words tumbled out as a whisper.

“Ma’am, stay back,” he ordered, grasping her forearm in turn.

“No, please,” she protested. “I need to see...to see...Jim!’

Her vehemence shocked even her.

Emotion welled up in her chest, and she placed her hand over her heart, her breaths quick and painful.

“No,” the policeman said sternly. “You must stay back.”

“But—”

“This is an unsecured area, Ma’am. It's not safe to come any closer. But I assure you that the captain is receiving medical care.”

Medical care?

Her gaze dropped to the glass-littered ground.

Leonard and several medics appeared to be fighting for Jim’s life.

She stared at her ex-husband’s ashen face as he barked orders to the medics crouching beside him to help. She tried to follow the orders coming from Leonard. The hands that held one of Jim’s arms, prepping it for an intravenous line. Other hands kept his head and neck still.

“My fault,” Jim shrieked as the medical team held him down. “It’s gone. Gone. Vulcan. They know. They know,” he babbled, his back arching and lifting his broken body off the ground. “Too late. Vulcan—”

“Jesus, you gotta hold him down,” Leonard shouted, his hands on Jim’s abdomen, pulling at his bloodied shirt. “That bastard knocked Jim’s head pretty damn hard! We don't need a repeat!”

“Yes, doctor,” a medic said, following the order with calm, practiced moves.

Tears leaked from the corner of Jim’s eyes. “They know. All of it. Comin’ for me—”

“Give him 40 migs propranolol,” Leonard barked, eyes down. “It's in my bag.”

“—m-my fault—”

“Oxygen saturation 70% and dropping, doctor.”

Leonard scowled. “I know, I know. He’s cyanotic. Give me a sec—”

“—can’t breathe-” Jim gasped, reaching up with one hand to grasp one of the medic’s forearms. “Make them s-stop! Their eyes,” he wheezed hoarsely, a painfully long, high-pitched sound that pierced her ears. “Can’t b-breathe... voices...m-make them stop. I need more—”

A medic quickly administered the contents of a hypospray into the captain’s neck.

Jim jerked under their hands, his blue-lipped body spasming.

“Shit,” Leonard hissed, frowning down at Jim’s abdomen. He kept one hand on the wound during his inspection, the other clenched the captain’s blood-soaked shirt. “We need to get him into surgery. There’s glass lodged in there.”

“He’s showing signs of a significant concussion, Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard hesitated, his eyes filling with determination as he stared down at Jim’s face.

One of the medics lifted her eyes. “Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard firmed his jaw and leaned down to kiss Jim’s cheek. “Darlin,’” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Listen to me.”

He stroked the captain’s bloodied cheek as if they had all the time in the world.

Was Leonard _insane_? Even she knew that Jim had _no_ time.

“It's me, Jim. Bones,” Leonard said softly—calmly—but his stricken eyes betrayed him.

Leonard was anything _but_ calm.

“I'm here,” Leonard whispered.

Jim’s body convulsed. “They’ll find me,” he rasped. “It’s g-gone. I’m afraid—”

“You don't have to be afraid, darlin’,” Leonard soothed. “I'm here. I’m here, Jim. No one’s taking you anywhere except me.”

The captain grew quiet but his eyes darted wildly, looking everywhere except at what—or who—was in front of him.

“Jim, darlin’, look into my eyes,” Leonard pleaded, gently patting his cheek. “I know you’re worried and upset. I...I know what you're thinking. But you don't have to be afraid.”

Jim blinked. His face was twisted oddly, his skin ashen and gray in the scattered light of the sidewalk.

Jocelyn clapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a cry. She’d never seen anyone look so gravely ill. So helpless.

“Just look at me, okay?” Leonard urged. “I gotcha. We’re gonna take care of you, I promise.”

“‘M’chest,” Jim mumbled, his head tilting back and chin lifting as he began to choke. “H-hurts…”

Leonard's eyes narrowed at the watery, gurgling sound. He grabbed his tricorder, running a scan.

Vomit suddenly spewed from Jim’s mouth. What didn't splatter over his chest slipped down his neck—and back into his gasping mouth.

Jim’s mouth gaped open, his eyes widening sightlessly on the starless, night sky.

She could tell from her vantage point that Jim was growing increasingly unresponsive, his body taxed beyond endurance by the drugs and his tenacious struggle to breathe.

“Goddammit,” Leonard muttered as Jim gurgled again. “Roll him onto his side!”

The medic looked unsure. “But the glass—”

“He’ll choke, dammit!” Leonard exclaimed, suctioning the vomit from Jim’s mouth. “You,” he shot out to the second medic. “Keep your hand on his wound. His reflexes are impaired. He’s overdosed and going into shock. We have to move him.”

The medics helped him turn Jim on his left side. The captain vomited violently a second time onto the wet sidewalk, shaking harder than ever. His expression...his eyes...were simply _gone_.

From the drugs. The hallucinations he was obviously having.

About _Vulcan_.

Her skin prickled, despite the raincoat she wore.

The same feeling she’d had earlier, at Nora’s house, after the meld with Mr. Spock, suddenly overwhelmed her.

Leonard cursed. “Rate of respiration is dropping. We’ll have to intubate.”

 _Jim_.

She had to help them. She had to help _Jim_.

She started forward—but strong arms wrapped around her from behind and held her back.

She stiffened. Another policeman? They were everywhere now, blocking off the area and breaking up the crowd. “Let me go! I need to get to him!”

“Jocelyn,” a man whispered in her ear. “Stay back.”

His hot breath sent a shiver down her spine, and she struggled to free herself from his grip.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he murmured.

She tried to twist in his arms, but his arms held her fast, nearly preventing her from moving at all. “But I need to help him!”

“Dr. McCoy can help him,” the man said sternly. “You cannot.”

She stilled.

His voice was familiar.

It was kind.

“Matthew?” she breathed, uncertain.

The man sighed. “Yes, it’s Matthew.”

“Why—” she began, her voice breaking off in embarrassment.

She swallowed her question— _why are you helping me?_ —her heart pounding unbearably fast in her chest. She could not look back at him.

Not when she'd made such a horrid mess of things.

Had he heard what Treadway had said? About Joanna?

A mournful cry caught in her throat. She didn't deserve Joanna. Not after this.

“Joanna,” she cried softly in spite of herself.

Matthew’s chest rumbled. “Is anyone here with you?”

“N-no.” She suppressed a sob. “I came with...Len. With Mr. Spock.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at her distraught ex-husband and his ill captain any longer, Jim’s poor physical state keeping the medical team on the ground busy longer than expected.

“Okay,” Matthew murmured in her ear. “Okay. I’ll stay with you, and take you home. To Joanna.”

Home? She couldn't go home. “Joanna’s with Nora.”

“Okay, I’ll take you there,” Matthew said calmly.

“I need...I need to check on her,” she said in a wobbly voice.

“Jocelyn, she’s safe,” Matthew murmured. “He...he’s not going to hurt her.”

She nodded mutely. Joanna was safe. Like Matthew had said. But Len and Jim—they would be going to the hospital soon. And Jim—he wasn't safe.

“You’ll take me to the hospital, once they take Jim there?” she asked him, if just to punish herself. “I need to...to see…”

She should be there if Jim died. Ready to take the blame. To endure Leonard’s hatred.

“I’ll take you there, if you’re sure that’s what you want to do,” Matthew said quietly, his chin brushing the side of her face.

She blinked, slowly coming back to herself and the realization that she felt protected and safe.

Matthew. Matthew was...comforting her.

A man her family wanted nothing to do with. A man she’d scorned, just as she’d scorned Jim.

But a man her daughter _trusted_.

No doubt her own daughter had better judgment than she did.

“And your store? They need you here,” she stated in feigned confidence, though she was sincerely concerned for him. “It's a...crime scene,” she finished lamely.

“I already called one of my employees. And the police can get my statement at the hospital. Besides, _I_ was the one who broke the window.”

“Then, yes,” she affirmed, desperately trying to hide her indecision. “Take me to the hospital. I’m sure.”

But she doubted her sanity in accepting help from him. To accept any help at all.

Matthew's arms tightened reflexively around her, before freeing her to stand on her own.

It was a tangible comfort she didn’t deserve.

 

 

oOo

 

 

Leonard almost didn’t register the fact that Spock had slipped into the back of the ambulance seconds after he had and just before they left. Spock had told him through the bond that it was necessary for him to ride with them, in order to help calm Jim’s agitated state.

Leonard was dazed, struggling to maintain his usual control and professionalism. His sole focus was Jim, but the presence of a Vulcan in his head—and a distressed Jim—was hard to miss. So was the precarious state of the familial bond between them.

He’d been a trauma surgeon— _was_ a trauma surgeon, among other things, dammit—and his hands were shaking.

Jim was stable. Barely. They’d staunched the flow of blood. He couldn't operate here—there was so much that could go wrong. Jim’s concussion was serious and would complicate every needed intervention; they needed to run the proper tests first.

The list didn't end there. Jim was hallucinating about Vulcan, provoking his agitation. Shards of glass penetrated his body. The fight or flight sensation from the adrenaline was gone, the slight increase in his already low white blood cell count a fleeting, small miracle, given epinephrine's half-life. The optimal high of the Agrediphine had long since been over, but the aftereffects of the overdose were snowballing with every second, inflicting greater risks to the effective functioning of his heart and kidneys.

Not to mention how pressing continuing the drug therapy was, to restore Jim’s fragile immune system. A lull or break in schedule could have deadly results.

He needed a hospital. A trauma center. The right equipment. A chance to clear his own head. He needed a Vulcan healer to agree to come and help Jim. He needed his best friend to survive the inevitable long-term care so he could wring his neck himself.

And, per Boyce’s orders, he needed fucking _Agrediphine_.

For one long moment, when Jim had stopped his violent vomiting, he had paused in what he was doing, simply clinging to Jim’s clammy hand. He’d run his other hand through the wet hair plastered to the captain’s forehead, offering him a crooked smile.

“Jim, darlin’,” he’d whispered, illogically hoping that Jim’s addled brain recognized him and registered what he was saying. “We’ll get through this, like we always do.”

Jim had whispered a word before his eyes fluttered shut, as they did now.

It brought him back to the present, and the hard days looming ahead.

Addiction, even if he was on the Agrediphine for just a few days, and even if it was used for medicinal purposes. Eventual withdrawal and its accompanying hell. Future temptation that could blindside them all and threaten Jim’s captaincy.

It was all moot. He’d stick with Jim through thick or thin, no matter what.

Maybe he was a fool, but he probably would have done the same thing had he been in Jim’s shoes. Besides, he couldn’t blame Jim alone for what had happened. Treadway was to blame. Jocelyn, too. The bond. The meld on Delta Vega.

Even he had played a part.

And for those reasons, he knew the only way they'd make it through this mostly in one piece was if they cared for each other. They were in this together, just like they'd always been.

He'd told Jim, as they'd sat side-by-side on the swing on his mama’s back porch, that he never left anyone behind.

He'd meant every word.

Since he was a healer, it made sense to him that he should be the first to pave the way.

“You can’t go to sleep, darlin’,” he said, squeezing Jim’s hand, tucking what he had said in the back of his mind once again.

Because it was important, but it wasn’t important _now_.

A medic lifted his Jim’s eyelids, shining a penlight in his eyes. As expected, his response was sluggish.

“Leonard,” Spock said, drawing his attention away.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, but then his attention was drawn away a second time, this time by voices right outside.

He winced, and rubbed his temple, feeling like he was being pulled in two. Or maybe two hundred.

Treadway emerged from the bookstore, flanked by two officers. Treadway was cuffed, his usual arrogant expression replaced by one of fear and his pale face coated with tears.

Treadway hunched over, darting glances all around him, whimpering like a kicked puppy and mumbling unintelligibly as he shuffled forward.

What the hell?

The two officers, one of whom was Davis, were speaking. Amongst themselves, or with Treadway, he couldn’t tell. Leonard turned his head and tried to listen more closely.

“You can call a lawyer at the station, and we’ll find you a clean pair of pants,” one officer was saying, a measure of disgust in his voice, the ambulance door closing before Leonard could hear the rest.

Curious, Leonard peered, with narrowed eyes, through the shattered window and immediately saw what they were referring to as Treadway passed by.

There was a distinct, dark spot on the front of the bastard’s pants.

Deep in thought, Leonard didn’t notice as the ambulance took off for the hospital. The darkened area of Treadway’s pants reminded Leonard of Jim, and the numerous indignities the younger man had been forced to endure during his recovery.

Since when would _Treadway_ ever lose control of himself that way? He was the epitome of arrogance, strength, and ass-holerey—and could even be described as cunning—and possibly a pediphile—the worst possible combination of attributes. But attributes that had allowed him to rise above anyone who was weaker than him, nonetheless. Even children— _Leonard’s own daughter_ —and critically ill Starfleet captains.

He was a bastard who didn’t deserve even the smallest, loneliest, most pitiful, most pathetic prison cell in the fucking universe.

Leonard glanced over at Spock and arched a brow in suspicion, daring him to deny that he had something to do with Treadway’s wardrobe malfunction.

Spock lifted his chin, staring back at him unflinchingly.

“Well,” Leonard rasped after a moment, more than satisfied with Spock’s nonverbal reply. He swallowed back a compliment, in case it would be in poor taste. “I guess that’s that.”

And he caressed the fragile underside of Jim’s too-thin wrist, and his pulsing vein, proof of the precious life that meant the world to him, to ground himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Non-Con Drug Use, Mind Rape, Implied Pediphile Referenced
> 
> The short, bolded sections in the first scene were intended to ground you to particular places in the story as you read. Just in case it wasn't clear, the first bolded section was the moment when Treadway injected Jim with another drug, and the second section indicated when he gasped his first breath after that. I know time seems very spread out in that first scene, but it was the only way I could see writing Jim's POV...which was extremely erratic, trippy, etc. from both the concussion and drugs.
> 
> I will leave the longevity of what Spock did to Treadway, or what he did at all other than retrieving the information he needed, up to you and your wonderful (and maybe even vengeful) imaginations. Some of you will no doubt enjoy the dark humor - and some of you will frown upon what Spock did, since it was actually mind rape, and you're welcome to think that. I just don't want to get hammered about it, but a calm, thoughtful discussion about it is fine. Also, I won't say one way or another if I agree with what he did. However, it's in this story because I really felt things had led up to it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking around to see where this story is going! If you leave a comment, thanks for that, too. Your thoughts are always welcome, not to mention great inspiration for me! ;) Until next time...


	21. I gave you all (of what's left of me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, again. Life can just be a real pain when it comes to writing fanfic. :( I'm trying to get in the groove again, though, so thank you for your patience, as always! Also, thank you for your kind comments and reviews these past few months while I've been absent. I intend to reply to them later this afternoon. :)
> 
> First things first...
> 
> VanaValie drew the most gorgeous piece of fanart - for THIS story! <3 <3 <3 She gave me permission to share it so I've included it at the beginning of the chapter. It's also posted on my Tumblr. Please leave her some love! <3 <3 <3 She has so much talent - the emotion on our beloved characters' expression is spot on. It makes my heart ache, in a good way. And the fact that Nora's back porch is the backdrop of the sketch speaks of her painstaking thought and care to include what is vitally important to the story. Thank you, again, sweet friend, for such a treasure. I'm honored that this story inspired you. 
> 
> Plumeria47, diamondblue4, and Junker5 - thank you for picking this story back up with me, for your careful edits, encouraging words, and constructive criticism. Couldn't do this very well without you. You've saved me from making many mistakes! :)
> 
> We're starting basically from where we last left off. There are several different POVs in this chapter. Please take note of that as you read. :)

 

 

 

 

 

oOo

 

She felt it deep in her bones, just like she had the night her husband died.

Some would say she was a strange woman to remain in the same house where her son had slipped morphine to her husband, killing him but granting him a peaceful end to his life. Some would say she was an even stranger woman to keep this secret to herself, that she knew how her husband had passed on, sparing her son from shame and dishonor when he was already burdened with regret and insurmountable pain, too.

But as Nora stared out the front window, with her feet firmly planted on the decades-old oriental rugs that Len, Jocelyn, Joanna and Jim—and now Spock—had walked, run, and paced across, in all the good and bad life had to offer, she knew she was as sane as anyone else. Smarter, too, for that matter. She’d married a McCoy, a man who’d coaxed her out of her poor rural life and into this family with old money and new, and a way of life that she was damn good at living.

As she clutched the window sill with aged hands, she was no different from any other woman who loved her family so much that she’d do absolutely anything for them. She’d only seen one chance to uphold her family that day, so long ago. And she’d taken it.

Secret keeping was the least she could’ve done for Leonard, when so much sadness had consumed them both, had utterly shattered his sister, Donna.

Had Nora been in his shoes, who's to say she wouldn’t have done the same?

She’d seen the hopelessness in her husband’s eyes, the frustration that he couldn’t just die to spare his loved ones, to avoid what was the destruction of his body. A debilitating disease with no cure.

She witnessed the same anguished and unspoken questions in Jim’s eyes, about his treatment and the likelihood of recovery and the depression weighing him down like a hundred ton weight.

_Why can’t I just die?_

Maybe that was why she was drawn to him, this young man who had more future ahead of him than he could see for himself. She saw glimpses of her past when she looked at him, but even more of her future.

Jim. Len. Jim and Len. If there ever were a pair made in heaven, it was this Southern doctor and his captain.

Oh, she was so proud of them, and the strength that was more refined than ever. Indeed, daily he saw the shell of a man Jim had become, yet Len never stopped, never ceased trying to improve the captain’s quality of life.

And that was how she knew that her son loved Jim as much as he’d loved his father.

But, oh so much more.

It scared her to think what Len would’ve done, had Jim’s options degraded, the therapy been deemed ineffective or too intrusive or both.

If he’d run out of options, seen the horror of his mistake, playing God before the world, what would he have done? And at what cost to himself?

But unlike her son, who’d shown tenderness and mercy to his father, and now to Jim, the night sky had no mercy. Not for her son. Nor for her son’s greatest love.

It was not a kind rain to soothe one to sleep. It was as harsh as hail and pelted the glass like endless gunfire, bearing down on the roads like a bird of prey extending its claws to capture flesh and blood.

It did nothing to ease the mind, not when Jim’s life was in danger and her son’s heart on the edge of breaking.

She heard the staccato pitter-patter of small feet behind her, her son’s darling child quickly coming down the stairs.

Joanna had gone back upstairs to fetch her books after her daddy left. Nora prayed that a book would be just the thing to take her mind off this wretched waiting.

“Something’s wrong, Nana,” Joanna whispered.

Nora dropped the curtain, forced a smile to her lips before she turned around. “We don’t know that, sweetheart,” she soothed.

But Jojo’s eyes were wide like saucers—and her hands empty.

“Couldn’t you find your book?” Nora asked gently.

Joanna sprang forward, rushing into her arms. “I want Daddy and Uncle Jim!”

“Oh, baby girl,” Nora whispered, folding her arms around her, wishing she could shield her from the pain that was sure to come.

She rocked the young girl back and forth as if she were a babe, holding her against her breast and wiping away her tears.

“Uncle Jim can’t die,” Joanna whispered after a moment. “He can’t! He loves Daddy!”

Nora, who then shed a tear, found herself at a loss of words. A protest like that was all too dangerous. For it came from a girl who was too smart for her own good, and intuitive just like her father.

Joanna would see right through her.

She cradled her in her arms, offering comfort to the one who very well could be the most damaged of them all at the end.

For without Jim, without the sun that guided him through this life, Joanna’s father would be that broken man that she, Nora, had never wanted him to become.

 

oOo

 

It was the way his shoulders slumped forward, the shuffling way he walked, that signaled the change in her ex-fiancé.

The Clay that had crashed with Mr. Spock back into Matthew’s store was not the same Clay who was escorted out of it.

Something wasn’t right. Clay was a boxer, through and through. He was defiant and challenging, always, but had become silent and strangely docile during his fight with the commander. She stepped forward to get as close to him as possible, but Matthew clutched her elbow before she got very far. Forced to remain behind the lines, she didn’t even get a good look at Clay’s face before the officers guided him into their craft and shut the door behind him.

Her breath caught. She was torn. Despite his current, evil nature, Clay should have a chance at redemption. He would need someone, a friend, a confidant, in his life. And a therapist for his anger issues. Yet as she thought about him, and how alone he would no doubt feel in the future, since there was no way now that she’d marry him, she felt conflicted. It wasn't guilt, exactly, because Clay had been deceitful with her, too. She felt...sad. Sad for the way he had wasted his life and all the potential he had been born with. Perhaps therapy would help him realize where he'd gone wrong. There was little she could do except, perhaps, find him a lawyer. It wasn’t like he’d win the case brought against him, nor did she want him to, but it would be the last kind thing she could do for him.

Not that he deserved any real compassion for his horrible motives and actions.

Not that she did either, for that matter, for all of her sins against Leonard, and Jim, were equal damning. She’d used Joanna against Leonard, lied to and about him, dragged his name through whatever mud she could, and hid anything good that he did from Joanna to mar his name in her eyes.

Compassion? She deserved none.

Anxious to trail after the officers, and inquire what they would do with Clay, she attempted to move, her feet with a mind of their own. But Matthew’s grip tightened. He pulled her along the other way, ignoring her attempt to slip from his grasp.

“Oof,” she breathed out, feeling the strength of his will as well as his fingers. “Wait!”

He did not relent. His chin set determinedly and his eyes narrowed, but he wasn't focused on her. Instead, he seemed intent on dragging her down the block, away from his bookstore. It was all she could do to crane her neck as she tried looking back to see through the still-thick crowd.

Suddenly, as she watched, the crowd parted, and several Starfleet security officers arrived, just shortly after the ambulance left. It made her wonder why they hadn't beamed Kirk back to San Francisco, to Starfleet General. At times, the transporter systems in larger cities went off-line, causes varying from interferences from a large vessel or severe storms charging the atmosphere. Perhaps Leonard had taken to heart the recently reported city-wide interferences. He was, no doubt, concerned over the potential for errors, and that beaming the captain during such times was a chance he couldn’t take with Jim so injured.

She twisted her torso, nearly breaking free.

Matthew locked his arms around her, his hands a vise.

“Jocelyn,” Matthew said, his mouth drawn into a frown. “There's nothing you can do here. Joanna is going to need you more than ever. Let the professionals do their jobs and don't get involved any deeper in this mess than you already are.”

“How dare you,” she hissed, mortified at his implied censure. She hadn't realized how strong he was, or how perceptive. Missing a leg had not hindered him in any way whatsoever. But that was no excuse for allowing him to order her around.

Like Clay would order her, and Joanna, around.

“You’re no better than he is,” she accused, choking on her own lie, as the reality of her twisted relationship with Clay flooded her body.

Matthew was far from being like the master manipulator who’d destroyed her life.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes filling with hurt. “Trust me, you don’t want to see him.”

“I don’t care. Let me go!” she protested, embarrassed nearly beyond bearing.

The hurt instantly disappeared from his eyes. “That’s enough,” he whispered firmly in her ear, the kindness in his tone clearly discernible. “You don’t need to see any more of Clay Treadway.”

She squirmed in his grasp. “You’re hiding something.”

“Even if I were, I’d hope that you would trust me.”

She’d never trust another man again. “But I need to know.”

His hand tightened around her arm. “You do? What do you need to know, Jocelyn? How badly he’s hurt? So you can allow him to manipulate you again? Make you feel guilty for what Spock did?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What did Spock do?”

“He stopped him, that’s what he did.”

“But—”

“Joce, please. Trust me.”

“What happened to Clay, why are they—” Her voice was suddenly cut off, and she stared at Matthew in shock, eyes widening as he placed his fingers gently over her mouth, quieting her.

It made her cringe, for she was not used to being manhandled, much less twice in the space of minutes and she felt like she was unraveling in slow motion, like people do when they’re traumatized. But she wasn’t traumatized. _Jim_ was. Jim was, because Spock had seen it all, and acted. He’d watched Jim die from outside the glass door of the warp core, powerless to save him, and so had she, in her office, when Spock had invaded her space.

He’d placed his fingers on her face, and she watched Jim die, too—

Oh, God. No, no, that wasn’t right. Could she be dreaming? Clay wasn’t acting like himself, and since he’d never lose a fight or go down defeated like he had, it had to be a dream, didn't it?

She wasn’t in shock, or sent, forcibly, to an ice planet, as a cadet or in a meld. She was in a dream. _She was in a dream._ A dream—

Was this even real? Was she still in a mind meld—

_Crack!_

Her head suddenly jerked to the side, her entire body shuddering as a hand struck her face.

She reached up with a trembling hand to cup her cheek.

Her cheek stung, and the world around her slowly stopped spinning.

“Did you, did you just…?” She winced and closed her eyes to get her bearings.

“Jocelyn, I'm...I'm sorry,” Matthew blurted, holding her tightly as she swayed. “God, it was an instinctive reaction. I was ...I was worried. You were zoned out....”

His voice trailed off, and she stared back at his concerned face watching her not a foot away.

“Joce?” the man asked.

She blinked several times, Spock’s face swimming before her eyes, then Matthew’s. But it couldn't be either of them. It had to be Len. He was always gentle like this with her. Or, at least, had been.

But he’d left, in the ambulance, because of Jim—

“Hey,” the man said softly. “If it would make you feel any better, slap me back. I shouldn’t have done that…”

She hardly cared. It had knocked some sense into her. “M-Matthew?” she stammered.

God, her voice didn’t even sound like hers. It was weak and uncertain.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said thickly, eyes scanning her from head to toe, as if he expected her to break. His expression burgeoned with an emotion she couldn't place, that caused the pit of her stomach to heat. “I’m sorry for doing that, but you were...somewhere...far away and I was sure you'd said you wanted to go to the hospital to be there for Captain Kirk.”

“S’okay,” she said in a small voice, almost scared to breathe and lose herself, again, in this nightmare. “You don’t have to apologize once, Matthew, let alone twice.”

“You’re not okay,” he said grimly. “But you’re not alone.”

Of course she was alone. She _knew_ Len. He’d never forgive her for this.

Never.

Neither would his mother, or any of his friends. She folded her arms, hugging herself. God, Kirk’s crew would probably put a bounty on her head. And Joanna….maybe she’d run away from home like Len’s sister Donna had, never to be heard from again, blaming her mother for destroying her family.

She wasn't okay, no one was okay. Clay wasn't. Jim wasn't, either. He could die because of her—

She choked on the realization. “He’s going to d-die!”

And it would her fault. _Hers_.

If she hadn’t been so stupid as to fall for Clay and all his lies, or to have become so needy that she’d had to act like she wasn't weak and lost. Trying to act self-assured. Successful.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” he demanded.

 

And somehow, his hand was on her cheek, his thumb striking her cheekbone, over and over, again.

“He’s with the best doctor in Starfleet. That's your ex-husband, right?” he continued.

She nodded. Of course he was the best. She’d lived through his residency, the never-ending hours of work he always seemed to have.

“He’s not going to die,” Matthew said, lifting her chin up with his finger. “You with me? He’s not going to die.”

“But I n-need...t-to know—”

“What?” he asked slowly. “What do you need to know, that won’t harm you even more, Jocelyn?”

Oh. She blinked, dazedly, as enlightenment filled her soul.

She needed her daughter to be safe from that abominable man. She needed Jim to live, and her ex-husband to go on living with him, caring—loving—him, and Clay, if she were to be completely spiteful, to endure a different kind of hell where his crimes hang over his head, every single minute of every damn hour.

“Jocelyn?” he prodded.

“C-clay.”

She thought he heard him sigh, and strangely enough, she couldn’t bear the thought of him being frustrated with her.

“He’s not yours to worry about,” Matthew said firmly.

She closed her eyes, repeated it to herself.

“B-but J-Jim,” she stammered. “He is.”

When he didn’t answer right away, she opened her eyes and locked eyes with him.

He looked resigned. “If you listen to me, then we’ll go see him, all right?”

She nodded, her gaze falling, unwilling to look past the internal struggle going on inside of herself, one that had filtered into every crevice of her mind.

Her mind was both full and imploding.

Had Jim felt like this? And even more so, now, with the drugs in his bloodstream?

She twisted her hands painfully. Dear God, the drugs. He’d lose what made him a leader. A captain. A friend. He wouldn’t be feeling like himself, or even human.

“What have I done?” she whispered, horrified that she, too, had fallen as low as Clay.

When Matthew slipped his arm around her shoulders, careful to guide her to a private parking lot beside the building, she no longer put up a fight. She let him lead her, began to trust him to keep her safe.

They’d walked only a couple of minutes when, much to her surprise, they came to his craft. It looked similar to the high-end models she’d seen on holoshows that even her own six digit salary couldn’t afford.

Her mouth gaped open, her imagination running wild. One thing was for certain. A mere bookstore owner could never afford such a luxury.

But if Matthew wasn’t just the introverted, somewhat eccentric bookstore owner, who was he, really? He was far from what she remembered him being in school. Back then, he had been more popular than she had been. He’d been named best athlete of the year, too, in the league.

People changed, but how could they change this much?

Matthew opened the door for her, but she didn’t take a seat. She continued to stare at his craft, despite the rain that continued to soak them, despite the sense of urgency she felt.

And Matthew, who’d been so patient with her, looked nervous, as if she was going to flee and never look back just because...he was rich?

“I like your craft,” she said, her mind a jumble. “Is it too expensive for me to sit in?”

It was a poor joke, because it felt horribly applicable to her and her alone. She thought he would surely criticize her feeble attempt at humor, but all he did was make a non-committal noise that was a cross between a sound of disbelief and laughter, instead.

“Nothing that I have is too expensive for you,” he said, fresh pain in his eyes that she did not understand.

Uncomfortable, she slipped into the craft, for she didn’t know what else to do. As she waited for him to get in, the chill from the rainstorm settled into her bones, and her hands would not stop shaking.

She rubbed them together before them on her lap, pressing them together for warmth, but it was no use.

They were like Jim’s.

Damaged.

But unlike Jim, she didn’t have Leonard to hold her hands anymore. That honor went to Kirk, who’d stolen her ex-husband’s heart faster than she ever had. And treasured it far more deeply, too.

“Are you all right?” Matthew asked when he got in, loud enough to be heard over the sudden roll of thunder.

She nodded through a full body shiver, and refused to look up at him for fear he’d take her home, instead. She didn't want him finding the sleeping pills she had stashed in the medicine cabinet ever since she’d started dating Clay. She had been unable to turn her mind off at night and sleep. That should have been the first, obvious clue that something was wrong with the relationship with Clay.

She leaned her head back against the seat, trusting Matthew. He’d take her to the hospital, and then he would leave.

She’d never see him again.

And she had to be content with that. Clay had dug his own grave, and so had she.

 

 

oOo

 

When Spock was a child, his mother had regaled him with tales of the great Atlantic Ocean, her favorite vacationing spot as a young girl.

It did not take him long, even at five years of age, to understand that she wanted him to experience the emotion that she had when she watched waves sweep into the shores, the image themselves less important. He had learned, quickly, that if he tried to “feel” the waves as she wanted him to do, that he could not. Her face keeping any signs of disappointment hidden, she had praised him despite his failure. She had applauded him for trying. She thanked him for just being “Spock,” and toke him she was proud of all his efforts.

In his opinion, it was illogical to be thanked for being one’s self. Yet, in a desire to be completely human, like her, he had hidden on the stairs behind his bedroom when his father was away and his mother unaware of his location. He tucked himself in the narrow passage intended as a secret route to the back of their house but that his father had closed off long ago, except for the three square feet space Spock occupied.

There, in the space he used as a sanctuary, without making a sound, Spock would breathe in deeply, the knowledge that there was no chance of being discovered, generating a sense of safety and calm. And, as he imagined his toes sinking into wet sand, the wind on his face, endless water before him, he began to understand that the differences between Vulcans and humans were far greater than he had ever imagined.

And, that he, Spock, was the single being on Vulcan—and one of the few in the universe—who felt that chasm to an exponential degree.

Yet, he loved his mother, so he did not stop asking her to tell him stories of her life on Terra, nor, in her love for him, did she ever cease. Not until her death.

As he grew older, not quite a man physically but mature in every other way, she would say that the calm before the storm was the most exciting thing one could experience, even more than the destructive wind and waves that followed.

_Illogical._

To which she would reply, “Memories, Spock. Of me and of you, before the storm,” and he knew that she had given him a warning in which to take to heart.

It had been her way of warning him that his childish days were ending and the world outside of his mother’s unconditional love would not be kind to him, a being of mixed heritage. Yet, as he lived through the upcoming, difficult times, he could think of her—and know that he was loved and accepted.

He had buried the love he felt in return, buried it deeply, far out of sight, before and after his mother’s death, in order to be less an alien and more Vulcan, to be what his father’s clan expected him to be.

Despite living in the days of space exploration, warp speed, and thousands of alien species, xenophobia still existed and would likely never be vanquished. Humans, for the most part, were too illogical in their thinking to banish such emotion. At least, not for long. But he had found a few who embraced his heritage without doubts or empty promises. Nyota. Puri. Pike. They were among the first.

Jim, and then Leonard, quickly joined them.

Now he could not the quell an eternal ache, an emotion that had been set free and welled up as Treadway had been led away. It was as if his mind had protested this change exchange of circumstances, this exchange of responsibility, a responsibility that, logically, in his hands, could not last.

He saw the truth of it in his Vulcan mind. He felt it in his human heart.

And, Jim, his captain, was in the center of it all.

Although Jim’s condition was precarious, he had been stable, initially. However, the calm before the storm in the ambulance did not last long. Before they were halfway to Atlanta General, Jim’s body could not handle the strain of the severity of his internal injuries nor the cocktail of drugs flowing in his bloodstream.

Spock watched the calm slip from his grasp and vanish, like a curtain wrenched open to reveal the dire unknown directly ahead, an unknown which portended a darkened future.

It was terrifying.

For there he saw no hint of a path that led to the light that was Jim. And without Jim, without that part of the bond a part of his consciousness, his existence in Starfleet was worthless. There had been no one like Jim in Starfleet before him, and there never would be after him. Jim was a singular, unique phenomenon. It was not love of a sexual nature that he felt for him, but a love that was higher, fuller, and deeper, one the human mind could not easily comprehend. His telepathic mind, however, understood it without difficulty. It was a rare and unprecedented connection to this particular human that could not be severed without either of them incurring great harm.

The craft jolted, and blood suddenly gushed from Jim’s abdomen. The captain’s eyes, already glassy, rolled back in his head, and his eyes closed as he surrendered to consciousness. His lips, coated with blood, parted, but not a sound came from them.

McCoy cursed under his breath, grabbing a clamp from one of the medics. “Hang another liter of fluid and run it wide open. He’s hypervolemic and tachycardic. Dammit, he needs blood. Once the fluid is going, give him 10 mgs of Dianzanil, IVP.”

The blonde-haired medic hesitated. “It looks like he’s lost a good deal of muscle mass recently?”

McCoy blinked. “Yeah, he has,” he said gruffly. “Monitor his vitals closely. There's no way to know if he will respond to drugs normally.”

“Doctor, his kidney function has decreased by thirty-two percent.”

An alarm on the computer monitor whined in agreement, suddenly piercing the air, the shrill sound a warning of the captain’s increasing distress.

McCoy winced. “Dammit, Jim,” he whispered. “Once that catheter’s inserted, let’s get a urine sample.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Continue to give him the local anesthetic. I have to clamp that artery.”

“He’s showing signs of cerebral hemorrhaging,” the medic said, shining a light into Jim’s eyes as he manipulated his eyelids, pulling them upward.

“Dammit,” McCoy gritted through clenched teeth. “We need to get that port ready, STAT.”

Spock watched, outwardly impassive, as an image of Treadway smashing Jim’s limp body into thick glass like it was a rag doll flashed through his mind.

He braced himself against the rippling currents of the bond.

He could hardly bear it, as the strength of the bond surged upward, riding his fears, like a message in a bottle, riding the waves to the shore. His mother would be smiling, had she been alive, encouraging him to accept the bond as the gift it was. She, of all people, knew the joy of such unexpected gifts, proof that emotions had a place in the Vulcan way of life.

In her honor, he would embrace it.

“He’ll need a head CT as soon as we get to the hospital, and a urine sample taken every hour,” McCoy added sharply, without looking up at the blonde medic who had secured Jim’s head and neck. He narrowed his eyes on Jim’s abdomen as he worked, his hands bloody. “I know you.”

The man nodded. “Landon Rice. Med school.”

Though that was, outwardly, good news, McCoy’s jaw clenched. “That right?”

“Small world.”

“I need you to accompany me into surgery,” McCoy said flatly.

Rice opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to counter him, but closed it a second later. “And the hospital?”

“I'll pull some strings. They’ll have no choice but to accept it.” McCoy muttered, his hands covered in Jim’s lifeblood as he worked frantically to stem the bleeding. “I need someone else who knows what’s going on. I don't have time to bring a new doctor up to speed.”

Spock tore his gaze from Jim’s chest, the blood, pierced flesh, and hands—McCoy’s—keeping the captain alive.

He did not need to be reminded that human life was fragile at best. He blocked out the noise around him, the critical nature of the doctor’s work, the captain at the mercy of others, and anything else that prevented him from dealing with a most pressing matter.

He closed his eyes and rediscovered a familial bond he had all but forgotten.

It tugged and pulled, for the first time since Vulcan’s destruction, and after he communed with it for a long moment, he then stubbornly held it at bay.

He would not answer to his father when his most important task was ahead. Not yet. For Jim, to whom he was now bonded with as t’hy’la in brotherhood, required the assistance of a Vulcan healer most urgently.

And a healer he would find.

At least in this, as with Treadway, he had control.

He could protect that which was most precious to him.

 _T’hy’la_.

 

 

oOo

 

In the middle of her apartment, Nyota glared at the holovid. “Can you believe that woman? She’s no reporter. She's a sensationalist.”

 

Sulu and Scotty, who’d arrived shortly after she had contacted them about Carol and Christine’s narrow escape, came to stand behind her.

 

 _“....a representative from Starfleet says the incident is under investigation, and that Captain Kirk is in safe hands and is en route to Starfleet General in San Francisco. There is no word on his condition, but witnesses tell us that Kirk was pale and unresponsive after he was assaulted, and that he required emergency treatment at the scene.”_ The television host paused, shaking her head. “ _How does a Starfleet captain find himself in a situation like this while recovering from previous injuries that were serious and life-threatening?”_

 _“Well, Eustcia, for once, I, too, am shocked beyond words,”_ the man sitting beside her replied. “ _I cannot believe the scene you just described to me. Have they identified the perpetrator?”_

_“Not yet, but a civilian took this picture, a side view of the man responsible for the attack…”_

The man sucked in a breath as a holo appeared on their screen. “ _Look at his size and musculature, compared to Captain Kirk’s. He would certainly be a force to be reckoned with.”_

_“Are you saying Kirk isn’t? He saved our planet—”_

_“And allegedly has a record as long as my arm as a juvenile!”_ The man said with a dry laugh. “ _We've all heard the rumors. And this incident sounds like ones in his past. Don't you agree?”_

The woman shook her head. “ _Have some respect, Luther. People change. Captain Kirk looks like a critically ill patient, not a criminal.”_

_“And why does he look so emaciated, anyway? Perhaps his recovery hasn't been going as well as Starfleet claimed?”_

_“I agree with you, on this observation. We should look into whether something was wrong before this incident...”_

Nyota didn’t try to suppress the rage swelling in her chest. “How dare they have the audacity to speculate and gossip about what really happened to the captain?”

As if it what he'd been through wasn't enough, now incorrect and salacious rumors would be plastered all over the national news.

“We need to do some major damage control,” Sulu muttered.

Scott folded his arms. “Aye, but that is out of our hands, laddie. I suspect the brass will be wanting to brief us.”

“I’m going to the hospital,” Nyota announced, shutting off the holovid and spinning around to stare at her fellow crew, her family. Jim’s family. Spock and McCoy would need support. And the crew of the Enterprise would not be left behind. “Scotty, stay here for now with Chekov and keep us updated. Sulu, you’re with me.”

Sulu sent her a grim look. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

oOo

 

The emergency room was, of course, cold and impersonal, but he had no time to dwell on the aesthetics of Atlanta General. Jim's injuries were too severe. He couldn’t delay treatment, at least not without consequences, and he couldn’t spare the energy to contemplate how wrong it was to be here at all, without the comfort and ease of his own medbay.

He barked orders to those around him, glaring at anyone who even thought to challenge his authority at this hospital. Though Boyce had pulled some strings, he expected more resistance and difficulties. Just because the paperwork was complete, giving him medical authority, didn't mean the personnel would appreciate him coming in and acting like he was running the place. Still, he imagined Christine at his right hand like always. Capable, doing what he asked almost before he asked it. Operating like one cohesive unit as they stood side-by-side, his hands somewhere inside Jim’s body keeping the captain alive, and her resolve keeping him—McCoy—sane.

The medic would have to do, and he seemed skilled enough so far to handle whatever McCoy threw at him.

He spared a quick, sideways glance at the raven haired nurse—Heda? Glenda?—who was standing silently in Chapel’s place. The woman tried to mask the horror-filled expression when he updated her about the Agrediphine, but failed miserably.

No, she couldn’t mask her shock and he couldn't blame her. No one—not even him—could maintain an altogether professional mask while staring down at the still, pale form on the gurney, whose face was white and bloodied and bruised all at once, his torso and abdomen even worse. The man whose name was synonymous with the greats from history. Whose cerulean blue eyes and brilliant smile were on holoboards.

Starfleet’s golden hero, its flagship’s captain, reduced to this. A tube stuck through his nose and running down into his stomach. An intravenous line in his right subclavian vein, administering a highly addictive drug into his system like it was only a saline solution. A port inserted in his skull to reduce the swelling. Helpless as he awaited surgery, one of many to come, given his condition.

McCoy exhaled a ragged breath, his eyes briefly smarting as he watched Jim, oblivious to the activity around him, before he strengthened his resolve. From now on, he had to keep a step ahead of the game, his eyes focused on Jim’s recovery, a process that would for now be more difficult than he or any other medical professional on this case ever expected.

 

With every drop, with every damn step he was taking, Jim became more dependent on a drug that would destroy his life. There was no room for druggies in Starfleet, let alone a captain who was addicted to his next fix. Modern science, for all its developments and headway, had not rid human nature of its innate desire for contentedness of body, mind and soul, nor the human body of systemic responses to a drug as strong as the Agrediphine. Addiction wasn’t easy to overcome, thanks to the drastic, far-reaching alterations made to the victim’s brain chemistry, a tangled tapestry of symptoms that still didn’t make complete sense to medical science.

 _Victim_.

Jim was a victim. Not a captain. Not a man. Not a friend. But a _victim_.

But that was putting it mildly. Leonard’s sun and reason for living was even more broken than he had been after entering the warp core, suffering irradiation, then being hauled into his sickbay in a body bag.

Just like before, Leonard would do all that it took in order to bring the light back into his life.

Or ease his agony in the time he had left on this earth.

In a case as complicated as Jim’s, no one could say for certain that he’d ever overcome the incessant need for the drug that grew more powerful exponentially, especially if the alternative—a life of unfulfilled longing and constant paranoia and mental breakdowns—was the only other choice.

 

oOo

 

“What will you do about Christine?”

Startled, Boyce almost dropped his comm. How had she come in without his knowing? Ignoring Dr. Puri, the note of concern in Naseen’s soft query, Boyce hefted his bag onto his shoulders. He headed toward his door, passing her as he made his way out of his office, leaving the door ajar in his hurry.

That exact question had confounded him ever since he’d learned about Chapel’s indiscretion. And yet, it was a logical question, now that word of her immediate suspension had trickled throughout the hospital. Despite her dubious actions, she was still a good nurse. Excellent, in fact. But even the most respectable nurse would be given more than a simple slap on the hand if they’d violated their oath and betrayed a patient’s trust and confidentiality. Other than Naseen, who was a long-time friend of Chapel’s, how could _anyone_ trust her? Or take her at her word? Even if the board allowed her to return, she’d be at the mercy of their every whim. Interrogated. Investigated. Tested. _Distrusted_.

He wished that the decision was in his hands. He didn’t want to see Christine’s skill and heart for medicine wasted—and he was certain that this horrific experience as a whole would set her on the straight and narrow again—but it wasn’t his decision to make. However, a more important matter was at hand. A decision that was up to him and him alone.

“Doctor?” she implored again.

“Not a thing,” he clarified.

He had nothing to offer her but the truth. He’d hardly any leverage here. But he didn’t have the time to get into this discussion with her. A clean getaway to Georgia was his priority.

 

He cleared his throat. “Dr. Puri, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to tend to.”

 

Naseen’s sigh followed him into the corridor. He looked both ways, twice, before stepping out, just like he’d taught his three grandchildren to do before they crossed the street.

 

He’d told Leonard in his last message that he’d arrive at Atlanta General as soon as possible, and that was exactly what he planned to do. He’d already used up twenty precious minutes clearing his hectic schedule, weeding through an impossibly thick tangle of necessary but inconvenient paperwork so Jim could be treated in Atlanta, and at least another half hour pulling more than just a few strings to get a hold of Treadway’s medical records, which he shouldn’t have attempted to see in the first place. Thankfully, Boyce had no regrets for his actions (or his future ones, for that matter), including stretching the truth. How else was he to help his friends, a respected colleague and the man who held him together like Super Galactic Glue, when they simply didn’t have time on their side?

But that wasn’t all that he’d battled for on behalf of Kirk and McCoy. Handling the insistent comms from HQ, pouring in like flood waters, was no small matter, either. In particular, calls from the members of the brass who had seen devastating and incriminating footage of a damaged Jim Kirk, caught between rain and foe. Of course, it had also caught the attention of a San Francisco reporter who often trolled high profile Starfleet officers. The image of the captain, sagging like a wet noodle against a man who towered over him by half a foot and weighed forty-five kilos more, had too much media potential for her to ignore.

As if Jim Kirk needed any more attention after the destruction left in Khan’s wake. Every single piece of this blasted mess revolved around Jim Kirk, starting with Nibiru, including Pike’s death and Kirk’s own, and continuing through his resurrection and present rehabilitation. Starfleet had already ensured that a brilliant spotlight pointed straight at Kirk’s golden image, weaving and regaling the public with bright tales of the captain’s unmatched heroics.

But there was no mistaking the problem, which could bring this house of cards down in a blink, scattering countless good efforts to keep a mountain of dark secrets hidden.

The sick, drugged appearance of one of Earth’s greatest heroes on national news. A respected officer at the mercy of a pitiless assailant. The seemingly reckless behavior—or selfless courage—of the youngest captain in history. Drug abuse on behalf of others.

And, according to Admiral Komack, the unveiling of these secrets had already begun.

If he was reading things right, and he had no doubt that he was, Jim’s response to Treadway and his threats was not out of the ordinary. At least, it wasn’t if one looked at the situation not only logically but with a fresh pair of eyes and an open mind, as well. Truly, what else could Kirk have done?

Had he gone straight to Starfleet security, those actions, a failure to comply to Treadway’s demands, could have easily provoked the ex-boxer, causing him to inflict additional harm on anyone that stood in his way. Possibly killing civilians and officers alike. But Jim wasn’t a well man to begin with, in more ways than just one, not having the stamina of an average man his age. Boyce had read McCoy’s notes over the past weeks. Thoroughly. Besides heavy indicators that the captain had PTSD, he was also clinically depressed, which meant that the captain couldn’t have made a single decision with a clear head. He was, indeed, unfit for command, as McCoy had rightfully declared. Kirk was thereby unfit for dealing with Treadway. Unfit to protect anyone, let alone himself. His condition so precarious that the additional drug coursing in his system, the highly addictive Agrediphine, had aggravated his mental instability, leaving him without his usual good sense.

Boyce had sensed the underlying tension in McCoy’s messages, as well as in the ensuing silence that indicated they were at Atlanta General. He could also read into what McCoy _hadn’t_ said. The concerns brought about by Jim’s exposure to the public. And the worst element of all, one that loomed on the horizon.

How would Starfleet even begin handling this once perfectly tied bow without undoing the damage control of the past two months? Without spilling their well-kept but dirty secret of the Augments?

He couldn’t blame McCoy for keeping his messages short and to the point, with Jim’s best interest at heart, not that anything but the captain’s survival—and the future quality of his life—was on his mind at the moment. He had no idea how Starfleet was going to clean up this new mess of their own making, for he was sure, somehow, the brass could have prevented it, though he was aware Starfleet had beamed several people already to Georgia to begin handling the situation. He had no idea what he would tell McCoy when he saw Jim Kirk, helpless on a hospital bed, other than the plan he was developing, one that would most effectively treat the captain.

There was only one faction at fault, and nothing would change his mind. He didn’t need Commander Spock’s inherent logic to see that none of this would’ve happened had Starfleet done what they should’ve done in the beginning—properly dispose of this dangerous and volatile threat to Christine and Dr. Carol Marcus and, most of all, to Kirk and McCoy, two of the Federation’s best men.

 _Treadway_.

The name sickened him, sliding down his throat and settling into his stomach like a nasty dose of poison.

“Chapel is one of our best here at SFG.” Naseen slipped in front of him, blocking his way into the lift.

He narrowed his eyes. “Never said she wasn’t, but she still betrayed our trust.”

“If she wants to continue on here—”

“—you mean return,” he corrected.

Naseen’s brown eyes filled with a distinct sadness, the same look that he’d often witnessed on her brother, when he’d failed a patient, his skill and talent not enough to save or cure them.

Her brother. Dr. Sai Puri, former CMO of the late Admiral Pike.

He suddenly had a full-blown headache.

“Leonard and Christine have a rare chemistry,” Naseen argued. “They work wonderfully together, and you can’t deny that it’s the very thing that keeps their sickbay running as well as it does.”

He shielded his eyes from the light of the corridor, making a mental note to himself to take something as soon as he had the opportunity. He couldn’t land in Georgia, unfit for practice. “We have several qualified nurses of our own who would love her position.” He nodded towards the door, indicating that she should move out of his way.

She didn’t. “It’s not the same.”

They locked gazes, and her face hardened like stone. He looked away first, disconcerted by it. “It never is,” he said softly.

She stepped aside.

His path was clear but his curiosity got the best of him and he stayed put. Why had she sought him out, only to mention Chapel? “What is this about, Naseen?”

“My brother spoke highly about her.”

And Dr Sai Puri would never speak of anyone, again.

Boyce mentally shook his head. He’d forgotten, stupidly, that Naseen had few, if any, links to her brother left. Both had been orphans, estranged from their remaining living family members, remote relatives. Naseen had taken Sai’s death hard, had suffered more than most from trauma following the Narada attacks, and to this day met with Christine over coffee. She’d stepped down from an administrative position, a desk job she’d been offered when her PTSD had surfaced, opting to work in pediatrics on a daily basis. For years now she’d treated the very children who’d been left behind by their parents, offering whatever support she could.

Yet, from what little she’d said to him in passing, she was still struggling with Sai’s death. But it was the haunted look in her eyes that exposed the crux of the matter.

She wouldn’t be staying. She’d said as much years ago.

If Christine’s career was over, Naseen would leave Starfleet, too, yielding to her tendency to let superstition control her, a tendency that would eventually overpower her training. And if Naseen went, one of the most compassionate people he knew would no longer be touching the hearts of children who lit up at the very sight of her. Naseen wasn’t just a good doctor. She was what his great-grandmother would have called “an angel.”

Chapel. Puri’s sister. It would be a double waste, but they were dealing with more than just feelings here. At least, more than the feelings of those removed from the worst of the destruction caused by Treadway. Who knew how _Jim_ would feel if Chapel retained her position, after all he’d been through?

He immediately regretted his question. Jim had a heart of gold. It wasn’t unusual for him to hand out second chances like candy, his requirements for who “deserved a second chance” quite minimal. Kirk wouldn’t toss the good Christine had done over the years out the window for the sake of appearances, nor for his own peace of mind. He was fair, but not cruel.

No, he’d give her another chance, his need to protect those he considered part of his crew family and his faith in humanity perhaps his downfall.

Yet it was possible that McCoy would challenge that decision in order to make things right, once and for all. To see Jim healed at whatever cost, but without the constant reminder of the attack.

“I’ll do what I can,” Boyce said, amending his previous statement. He’d ease the shared burden they both shouldered and move her along. One horribly damaged captain—and his doctor—awaited him.

He caught the doubt on her face as the door slid shut.

 

oOo

 

Ten minutes into Jim’s surgery to remove the shards of glass in his neck and stomach, McCoy’s hands betrayed him.

His hands shook, and his scalpel slipped.

Jim began to bleed again, this time in a new location. Alarms wailed. He stood, useless and frozen, staring down at his pale-faced, frail captain yet seeing nothing.

“Fuck, it nicked an artery—” someone said, the voice seeming to come from far away. “The glass…”

Another alarm joined the first, the wailing twice as loud.

It was just like Jim to constantly seek attention.

“Dr. McCoy, I need you to step aside,” a woman said at his shoulder.

_I need you to sit down…._

He snapped back to attention. He couldn't fail Jim.

His breath shook. “I can fix this…”

He had to.

This was _Jim_.

He lived, worked, and breathed Jim. This was no different.

His life with was _him_.

“Dr. McCoy, your hands—”

The scalpel glinted under the light. Jim’s blood was on the blade.

_I may throw up on ya…_

His chest tightened, crushing him, stealing his breath.

“—they’re shaking.”

No, they weren’t. They couldn’t be.

He would make this right. He was a healer. He’d fix Jim.

“Give me a minute,” he said, his voice cracking as he refocused on Jim again.

But it wouldn’t fix all of him, would it?

_Correct the error. Then step aside. You are emotionally compromised._

The hell he was. _Spock, get out of my head._

_I cannot manage worry about you as well as Jim. My controls—_

“Fine, dammit,” he muttered angrily.

“Doctor?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat when the pressure he applied slowed the spurting blood, allowing him to clamp the bleeder. With Jim now out of danger, he didn’t feel the sense of relief that he should have experienced. He shouldn’t be in the operating room—

_Come on, Bones! It’ll be fun!_

His hands moved on autopilot, tying off the compromised artery with precise suturing, completely staunching the blood flow, before removing the clamp.

“Please, doctor,” the nurse insisted.

_Or I'll **make** you sit down._

His error fixed, he looked up for the first time—and saw no one. The room, the patient on the operating table, the shuttle ride beside Jim, battling for the life of his best friend, were a blur.

What had just happened?

“Dr. Boyce is on his way. Dr. Carver and Dr. Rice will take over until he gets here.”

He stumbled backwards, surgical tools abandoned. “What?” he garbled out.

Why was his mouth full of cotton?

Why did everyone sound so far away?

Why were they looking at him so strangely?

“You’re compromised. Come with me,” she said, and grasped his arm.

_I think these things are pretty safe._

“No...”

“Yes, Doctor.” She tightened her grasp, her voice cutting into his thoughts and leaving no room for argument.

Numb, he shuffled out of the OR, supported by her strength.

“We’ll take care of him, I promise,” she assured him.

No one could take as good as care of Jim as he did.

_Get me a cryo-tube, now!_

“You’re close?” she questioned, as if sensing his resistance.

“More,” he said, swallowing thickly.

“I thought so.” Her hand dropped from his arm. “Wait outside until we’re done.”

Only when he was standing in the adjacent room, dazed and alone, did he realize what he'd done.

Why had the nurse acted so calm? His hand had slipped, an error that he could not take back.

He could lose his license. Be suspended. Never serve on a starship again. Never return to the black at Jim’s side, where he belonged.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, horrified as he stared at his hands. “Jesus…”

The hands that were the steadiest on the ship.

The hands that had just bowed under pressure.

He needed to go back and fix the rest of the damage—what Treadway had done—but he didn't deserve to be Jim’s surgeon.

Not anymore.

His legs buckled underneath him, and he sank to the floor, undone, the cool, hard surface driving painfully into his knees—

And he deserved _that_.

He slammed a fist into the wall and retched on the floor while feeling the sting along his knuckles that reminded him of his failure.

He'd nearly killed the man he loved.

He'd nearly killed _Jim_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you think of the chapter! XX
> 
> *I am aware that there are several different opinions out there of how "t'hy'la" should be used, but please respect my decision to use it this way in this story. Thank you!


	22. I’m not who I once was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Junker5, plumeria47, and diamondblue4...you always go above and beyond. Thank you so much for keeping me on my toes. 
> 
> I have news! Diamondblue4 has graciously agreed to co-author the rest of the story with me...and I am truly grateful. She’s a wonderful writer, with a passion for these characters, and I just know you are going to love what she has to offer to this story. You’ll read her handiwork especially in the last scene of this chapter, but she’s added to other sections, too. 
> 
> There are a few more OCs introduced in this chapter, FYI. Also, I’m posting this quickly, then going right back to it and italicizing words and fixing the link at the bottom. 
> 
> Thank you for reading...and for your patience. A special thank you to all who have found me on tumblr and have encouraged/interacted with me there, too. It means more than you know!

 

Despite Jocelyn’s protest, Matthew escorted her inside the hospital once they arrived. As she stood at the threshold of the Emergency waiting room, her arms wrapped around her middle and looking like a lost child, he knew he couldn’t leave her there on her own. The sounds of hurried activity around them, and in the wide corridor behind them, did nothing but heighten the tension that had followed them from the streets.

Apparently, the arrival of a Starfleet captain at a major hospital drew unwelcome attention, such that not even the increased security staff, in addition to Starfleet personnel, could prevent the news from becoming public. The information leaked to the press had already done plenty of damage, piquing curiosity and luring a number of reporters and sensationalists, whose obsession with the poster boy of Starfleet had brought them here. He recognized a few, just in passing, individuals who stalked, and tried to stop, anyone on staff who might know more about the captain’s condition and be willing to divulge it.

As a man who’d spent a lifetime avoiding the press, even going as far as learning the names and faces of reporters he wished to avoid, he had no tolerance for such people. He’d had enough experience with being in the spotlight, his wealthy parents attracting far more attention than was healthy for any family, let alone a family that was already broken and their son only a toddler.

As a child, his privacy had been constantly invaded, thanks to his parents’ choices, especially those made by his father. He’d experienced, firsthand, the raw anxiety that clawed at the chest, leaving tender scars. Once the new life he’d tried so hard to save and build in college was gutted beyond repair with a single, tragic holo, his life had radically changed again. There had been no going back to the life he had worked so hard to create. He could only go forward, hopefully with the living support of friends and family.

He had never been that lucky.

He clutched Jocelyn’s arm and looked around for Mr. Spock, whom he’d seen walking this way only a moment ago. Now, however, he saw no one resembling the Vulcan. Had Mr. Spock ventured deeper into the Emergency room?

As his gaze swung around to the woman beside him, he abandoned his conjectures, more concerned for her welfare, as he should be. Although numerous people were looking after Kirk, there wasn’t a single person, other than himself, who could say they were doing the same for this woman. He’d never walked away from someone in need and he wasn’t about to start now.

Jocelyn stared passively down at her feet, which troubled him. She’d grown quiet and withdrawn in the craft on the ride to the hospital, her expression laden with the guilt of witnessing an assault to which she’d played a contributing role. With her mental state in mind, he’d purposefully taken a detour, giving her time to find her balance, ultimately delaying their arrival at the hospital.

He hadn’t wanted to aggravate her anxiety by forcing her into another stressful situation. Not then, and certainly not now. The extra time in the craft had seemed to calm her. He didn’t want the noise and constant ebb and flow of people on the first floor of the hospital to undermine her fragile composure as she came to terms with the fact that her ex-fiancé was a very troubled man.

Reading the various signs posted on the walls about the shortage of replicators because they were in the process of being upgraded, Matthew decided to find a more quiet place to wait, one that was closer to the cafeteria.

“Let’s go this way,” he murmured in her ear, guiding Jocelyn down the hall and around another corner, feeling the fine tremors that shook her body.

She moved on auto-pilot, her body stiff and awkward, even as she yielded to his guidance, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to go with him or not. But since she’d expressed her desire to be here in support of Jim, he clenched his teeth and made the choice for her.

Her shirt clung to her body like a second skin, as did his, but he wasn’t the one who was shivering. Despite his best efforts to protect them from the rain, he’d left the damn umbrella in the craft, and so had she. The cooler temperature inside the hospital didn’t help matters, and he doubted she’d remain seriously unaffected for too much longer.

Once he found her a place to wait that was free from prying eyes, he’d get her a cup of hot tea to warm her, then dry clothes to change into.

Her breath hitched when they came to a second waiting room, her eyes falling on the couple who sat near the far wall. A little girl who looked to be around the same age as her own daughter, Joanna, sat on her mother’s lap.

A sound that resembled a sob caught in Jocelyn throat. “I need to call them,” she said in a choked breath. “Nora has to be worried sick.”

He slid his hand down her arm and captured her limp hand in his, squeezing it. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t let it deter him from offering her a small smile. “We’ll call them soon,” he promised.

She blinked several times, her eyes clouded as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. He could read her expression all too easily. She was about to argue with him.

“Soon,” he said firmly before she could say a word.

With exhaustion lining her features, he led her to a chair. She stood, swaying, as if she had forgotten how to move her limbs to sit. He didn’t hesitate to place his hands on her shoulders and applied gentle pressure. “Please, Jocelyn,” he said softly. “Just sit for a moment.”

His touch seemed to ease her out of her daze and, bracing a hand in the arm of the chair, she awkwardly took a seat. As if cut from their strings, her hands dropped, hitting her thighs. She seemed to have no control over her movements.

When Jocelyn fixated on a random spot on the wall, remaining silent, he began to second guess his decision to bring her here. He called softly to her, but his attempt to draw her attention back to him failed. She had no awareness of where she was or what she was doing, let alone what she’d said to him.

He leaned over and placed her hands back on her lap, taking advantage of their closeness to study her face. He was astonished at how pale her skin had become, how much thinner she appeared since the last time he’d seen her. She made no sound, as if her voice had been sacrificed along with her control of her limbs. A sick feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

The situation was beginning to make him feel out of his depth. Her reaction made sense to him on one level. She was in shock, and chilled to the bone, but that didn’t totally explain her behavior. He wondered whether she might have omitted important details from her explanation of recent events. He’d have to find someone—a nurse, hopefully—to examine her if her withdrawn state continued much longer.

Matthew suspected that there was more contributing to her shock and withdrawal than seeing her own boyfriend threaten Leonard’s captain and friend, someone Leonard obviously cared about. The situation grew even more complicated when Mr. Spock’s presence was taken in account. He wasn’t exactly ignorant of the intricacies of Vulcan biology and culture, thanks to his numerous business transactions with Vulcans since the demise of their planet. Given what he’d seen take place between Treadway and Mr. Spock, and the person he knew Jocelyn to be, Matthew could easily make some guesses as to what had caused it.

But he couldn’t dwell on the mystery. Not when Jocelyn was succumbing to the chill produced by her wet clothing and the cool air, her body shaking uncontrollably in such a public place. He pulled out his comm, breathing a sigh of relief that it was dry and in working condition. After a silent debate with himself he texted a well-known colleague, one who was always willing to do him a favor, asking if she could go shopping on their behalf. He’d asked stranger things of people before, and those same people had asked for odd things in return. It was part of the reputation he’d built for himself since his father had disowned him. He repressed the guilt he felt for forcing an associate out on this miserable night, knowing the cause was urgent.

He set his comm aside and knelt in front of Jocelyn, ignoring the resulting twinge of pain where his prosthetic met with the remaining flesh of his thigh. He rubbed her arms brusquely, hoping that would somehow ground her and ease her out of her head, back into the world at hand. “Jocelyn?” he inquired in a low voice. “Are you all right?”

After a long moment, her eyes focused on him, and he smiled at her. “We’re here at the hospital,” he said. “I’d like to get you a cup of hot tea. You’re far too cold.”

She blew out a long breath, clenching her hands into fists. “M-Matthew,” she said, in sudden recognition, her cheeks flushing brightly, bringing color to her white face.

“I won’t be gone long,” he assured her.

Something died in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been alone for most of my life. I’m used to it now.”

He desperately hoped she wasn’t serious. It wasn’t any way to live; not for someone as vibrant as Jocelyn. It begged the question he’d been trying to answer for years. What, exactly, had ended her marriage with Leonard? “I will return as quickly as I possibly can,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Her eyes flickered with an odd combination of hope and doubt, emotions that he recognized all too well, having experienced them in his past, when the world had dangled the promise of a better future before snatching it away and leaving him with a missing leg.

“I don’t know why you’re helping me,” she said.

“I’m invested in this situation,” he replied, recalling the damages his store had suffered. And his bookstore wasn’t the only thing that had been damaged by Treadway’s actions. Both the bright girl, who loved to read, and the girl’s mother, who braved the world despite her past mistakes, had been adversely affected by Treadway’s cunning deceit. “In more ways than one. Let me help.”

Nothing soothed his tight nerves more than her simple nod.

 

oOo

 

Selek had long since abandoned the social protocols expected of him on New Vulcan, where propriety and Vulcan tradition usurped compassion and creativity. The population had not seen the hoped for increase. Indeed, it had leveled, becoming static. The constant pain from broken bonds had resulted in a downward spiral, one which resulted in depression and apathy among some of the elders. Many of them had succumbed to their despair, welcoming the peace of nonexistence. So far, their deaths had been consistently offset by the number of pure, Vulcan-blooded children born since New Vulcan’s establishment.

It was his strong opinion that the guidelines the council imposed on bonding and mating within the community prohibited the colony from flourishing as he had once foolishly envisioned it would. The elders could not force their rules upon any of the survivors. Yet, most of the survivors had proven susceptible to the persuasive logic the council presented, logic that he believed hindered true growth within their culture. A number of Vulcans, who had suffered greatly when the demise of their homeworld severed their fledgling bonds, had vanished, seeking healing elsewhere. Still others had decided to undergo Kholinar and purge all emotion from their lives, a process which required severe discipline and celibacy for an indeterminate amount of time, with only the advent of Pon farr to disturb their studies. Both situations counteracted the efforts of the colony to increase their population.

The Vulcan High Council continued to refuse to listen to his suggestion that they, at the very least, consider modifying their rigid rules and embrace other options that would allow them to keep their heritage alive, and the bloodlines intact. As his t’hy’la had often said, they could not see the forest for the trees.

Perhaps it was time for him to accept that nothing would change, not while he was alive and breathing on this rugged, barren planet that was more like Vulcan than the imploded planet itself.

The truth was harder to endure on some days more than others. Today it was excruciating. He had left his seat at the council table two hours ago, choosing, instead, a softer chair in which to recline in his home near the oasis. There, he could enjoy a familiar and quiet solitude, answering to no one and reliving the life he had experienced on another world which echoed this one. He daydreamed habitually, and today was no exception. He breathed in the fragrant air off the water, the scent reminding him of a time when he had had a family of his own.

His eccentric ways perplexed the elders, although they would never admit it. Despite the loss of their planet, their pride had to yet to take a fall, their hearts as remote and stagnant as ever. He did not blame them. Vulcan ways were a struggle that few could endure through anything less than complete commitment and dedication.

He never hesitated to speak his mind to the other elders. He had seen too much, lost all that he had and more, to follow blindly in their footsteps. Although he did not ridicule or chastise them in public, or even privately to those closest to him, he did not suffer fools well and had nothing but contempt for them in his thoughts. These fools, like the ones speaking at the council meeting his morning, had given him another headache. For the past two months, since Jim had died and then lived, his headaches had escalated to an abnormal level, both in frequency and severity.

He sank deeper in his chair, his troubled spirit foreshadowing the pain which had begun to form in his temples and forehead. It stabbed like a sharp knife, the cold, merciless pain like shards of ice that grew in the frigid temperatures of a Terran north.

This splintering ache had haunted him numerous times before, a pain he could not rid himself of. Not even meditation could purge the ever-familiar, chronic pain that had no rational cause.

He looked out across the still waters, a blue crystal illuminating a tapestry of desert browns and reds, its hidden life evident in its iridescent rippling and constant movement across the surface. It reminded him, as it always had, of the singularity which had pulled him into a dizzying yet satisfying orbit, as it did to many others it touched.

James Tiberius Kirk.

Pain swept across his forehead before sinking deeply into his mind, embedding itself, as if he had rammed his head into a wall and was caught, unable to free himself. An unsettling, irrelevant feeling that he had hurt his t’hy’la, a man who was no more, blossomed suddenly in his mind, causing him more discomfort and sadness than anything he had ever experienced.

He was a man of two worlds, and not only in the sense that he was both Vulcan and human. He had lived a lifetime in another universe, but this world was his new reality. A planet that was the essence of Vulcan, as if his lost home planet had been distilled into a purer version of itself. Its deserts were drier than the ones he had traveled upon in his youth. Its atmosphere was thinner, less hospitable by human standards than the planet which had sired his dream of joining Starfleet. Its inhabitants were colder in spirit than he remembered.

His breath caught in his throat. How had he been so blind? It was not in his nature to ignore even the most obscure detail concerning his Vulcan telepathy. Yet, he had been unmindful, blind to the reality of the situation. All it had taken was a brief glimpse of the bond, a powerful and emotional contact with another, to tear aside the veil that he had not even known had been shrouding this connection.

The epiphany shocked him so deeply to his core that he cried out, the sound carried away with the mild breeze. No one heard him, since he was alone, but it did not matter. He realized that he had grossly misunderstood the root of his acute discomfort, the level of attachment which flowed between the younger counterpart of his own t’hy’la and himself.

This stab of pain stemmed not from thoughts of his old friend, but the reckless one who had lost a father, and suffered through the consequences that had followed in the wake. That loss had propelled a mother to poor decisions, stealing from Jim—this Jim—a stable home and upbringing and thereby forcing him to sacrifice more than was healthy in his short life. Selek’s failure to save Romulus had created these actions and brought young Jim’s sacrifices into being. His choices and mistakes did not stop there, however, and with sadness welling in his chest, he had no choice but to accept that he was the cause of additional, unbearable consequences.

It was unacceptable, but there was nothing he could do to reverse the pain the meld had caused, as woven into Jim’s life as it was.

_His fault._

He closed his eyes in undisguised, raw grief. Uncertainty overpowered the abundance of logic his aged mind held, the truth shattering the peaceful and prosperous life he had been attempting to live on New Vulcan and eliminating the hope that Jim Kirk would thrive now that he was on the Enterprise where he belonged, with the crew that loved him.

Jim—his fears, his confusion, his desperation, his helplessness—filtered through the mental cracks in his shield. Spock, now Selek, had failed him—again—but exactly how, he was uncertain. He would make it right, if it took from him his last breath.

When he sensed another presence, an interruption which only aggravated this staggering grief, he did not look behind him.

He sighed, a loss of breath that bore the weight of a million years and bent under just as many mistakes. “You feel it,” he murmured, a powerful ripple within the bond extending beyond his comprehension. “Pain. Confusion.”

“It is Spock,” Ambassador Sarek replied after a long moment. “There has been an unfortunate incident.”

Pain flared in Selek’s chest that he could not hold at bay. “It is Jim,” he whispered.

 

 

oOo

 

Benwith grabbed the PADD on his desk, muttering to himself. “There must be a full moon tonight. Two homicides, a kidnapping, two thefts, a barroom brawl, a cat up a tree, and now this.”

At least he was escaping this nuthouse in a few minutes for patrol duties.

His Andorian partner, Mel, snorted, making her delicate antennae twitch. “You fell for that?”

“How was I supposed to know Tabitha was the nickname for the old lady’s stray?” he retorted.

It was the wrong thing to say. She looked down her nose at him, as always, even from her desk. She was a tough cop, and more susceptible to injuries than other humanoids due to her physiology, but she never worried about it. Neither did he. In his opinion, her grit, as well as her ingenuity in tough situations, more than made up for it. He secretly suspected she was part Klingon, which would explain her ‘tough skin.’

“And you’ve been a cop for how long?” she asked.

A shadow fell over him. “Somethin’ ain’t right with that.”

Although the newcomer was speaking to him, Benwith’s gaze didn’t shift away from the document from Starfleet that he was reading. “You’re telling me. Wasn’t even her cat.”

“No,” the man said, now more articulate than before. “Not that.”

Benwith spared a glance at the newcomer, who had the beginning of what looked like a nasty bruise around his left eye.

“Him,” the man said, jerking his chin and looking over his shoulder to the other side of the room.

He turned, following the direction the other man had indicated, to see the prisoner sitting in a cell, his shoulders slumped and eyes drawn downward, to the floor. At first glance and despite his bulk, the prisoner looked...fragile.

“Why is he sitting in there like that?” the man standing over him asked, his expression drawn tight.

Benwith turned back around, scowling. “You’ll find out soon enough. Media’s having a heyday with this.”

“But his pants.”

He exchanged a glance with Mel. The guy sounded like a concerned friend, something he was sure Treadway didn’t have right now and didn’t deserve. But he kept that to himself. “What about them?”

“They’re wet.”

Benwith didn’t have to check twice to confirm that. “Not the first time someone’s pissed themselves.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m not here to let it bother me. I’m here to uphold the law.”

“I’m a…” he hesitated.

Benwith raised a brow at the odd pause. This guy looked anything _but_ unsure about himself.

“A psychiatrist,” the man finished, as if that explained everything. “Among other things.”

“Who gets into fights?” Benwith asked pointedly, letting his eyes wander over the other man’s face.

The stranger was handsome, no question about it. Tall, but not overly. Kind, brown eyes that reflected a hint of challenge. Chiseled jaw, strong, like the rest of his body. Conservatively dressed, as if from old money. Even his dark hair was slicked back and elegant, with little bit of premature gray showing at the sides. Yet his great looks were no temptation. Benwith’s stepfather was a retired psychiatrist and they did not get along. They hadn’t since he’d broken up with his girlfriend and told his family he was gay.

No, the newcomer’s looks didn’t tempt him but the intelligence behind his eyes certainly did.

The newcomer stared at him for a long moment, rivaling the chief’s intimidating eyelock. “Wrong place, wrong time, that’s all,” he said haltingly, as if the admission pained him.

Mel bit her lip. “He’s right, you know.”

Benwith sighed. “Mel.”

She stood and came over to Benwith with her arms crossed. “I heard them laughing about Treadway before they entered the squad room,” she murmured. “It wasn’t right, but I can see their point. It’s...ironic. Whatever happened to Kirk, something also happened to _him_.”

“You sound sorry about it,” Benwith said, with a bite to his tone.

She sat on the edge of his desk and narrowed her eyes. “Someone should be.”

Benwith sent her an incredulous look. “He nearly killed Starfleet's golden boy. Captain Kirk—”

“Just look at him,” Mel clipped. “Treadway hasn’t said a word since he arrived except to say that he’s cold.”

Benwith looked at Treadway, not even bothering to hide his disgust. “Let his lawyer get him some fresh clothes. Not our problem.”

“But can he even communicate?” the newcomer asked softly.

“His lawyer will be here soon,” Benwith said, wishing they could move this conversation elsewhere. Starfleet personnel crowded the room, along with Chief Larret. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled into this case and sucked into the drama. “I’m sure he’s just biding his time until he can share his side of the story without any risk of it being turned against him.”

“Maybe,” Mel said. She slid off his desk. “But he looks like—”

The newcomer took an abrupt step forward, coming between them. “A child,” he murmured, staring at the man in the cell. “He’s...disassociating. I’ve been watching him for awhile. Since I got here, in fact.”

“Which was?” Benwith asked politely.

The man shrugged. “A half hour ago.”

Mel nodded. “I heard the arresting officers try to talk to him. They didn’t have much luck. He’s like a zombie or a halfwit or—”

“That’s… e-enough,” Benwith said shakily, his stomach churning. He closed his eyes, hoping his own pathetic pain wasn’t obvious.

Mel’s breath hitched. “I forgot.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. Mel’s gaze was as pitying as it was piercing, but the psychiatrist watched the two of them closely.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “God, I’m so sorr—”

“Mel, you don’t—” he interrupted, battling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He couldn’t just bolt out the door. If he did, if he ran with his tail between his legs every time someone brought up what happened last year, he shouldn’t be in law enforcement. “Just...don’t, Mel. Please.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I won’t.”

He grew quiet.

What else could he say when his cousin, who’d attacked him after he had come out, had acted the same way as Treadway, portraying himself as mentally unstable and innocent, but all for show? And had gotten away with it, the jury buying his clever performance.

His cousin had been released on parole after six months while he would never stop feeling those heavy-handed blows to his body. Never stop hearing the taunts that rained down on him, as well.

He couldn’t imagine an already weakened, sick man enduring a professional boxer’s rage and massive fists well at all. He couldn’t imagine Kirk not suffering lasting damages from this incident, his life irrevocably altered.

Treadway deserved everything that was coming to him.

The newcomer cleared his throat. “Where can I find a communicator around here? I need to contact someone for a ride.”

Benwith was grateful for the interruption. “You don’t have one?”

The other man gave him a lopsided, lazy grin that conflicted with the seriousness he had emanated just a minute ago. “Never needed one. Have a secretary.”

Benwith doubted the man could maintain employment without a communicator, let alone manage his life well, but he’d heard stranger things than that in this job. He sighed and, against his judgment, grabbed his and handed it to him. “You can use mine. Waiting in line for the public comm is a hassle you don’t want tonight.”

“Thanks,” the man said, his shoulders sagging in relief.

“Just make it quick,” he muttered, watching the man work the device with surprising efficiency for someone unfamiliar with newer models like his. “I’d like to get out of here before things with Treadway escalate.”

 

oOo

 

Spock heard their decisive murmurings before he saw them and the grim looks casting shadows on their faces.

They came for him. He was prepared for their questions, stalwart in his decision. They would not discover what he had hidden.

His father had told him once that what is necessary is never unwise.

If that was true, as Spock believed it to be, then he had been wise to silence Treadway and guard his own life as much as he protected Jim’s. He would not yield in guilt or succumb to intimidation. There had been no other way to insure Jim’s safety in the future. No other way to prevent Treadway from hurting his t’hy’la, and also Leonard, again.

As the three figures approached, Spock did not worry. _Vulcans_ did not worry. He was controlled by logic, and yet he had reacted in rage. He would not bend to the law of others, and yet he would appear to be acquiescent. He did not lie, and yet he would, this time, to protect his own honor, for in doing so he was protecting both Jim and Leonard. The crew of the Enterprise deserved no less than Kirk as their captain.

Logic fed his decision. A lie was necessary. It was not unwise.

“Commander Spock,” Vice Admiral Garvard said, her voice rising over the discordant symphony of voices near the Emergency room.

He had only spoken with her once before, at headquarters and in the presence of Admiral Pike. “Vice Admiral Garvard,” he acknowledged.

Her companions, both Atlanta policemen, regarded him coolly, as was expected.

“These men wish to speak with you,” she explained, her eyes sharp. “You were the one who apprehended Mr. Treadway, were you not?”

“Indeed, I was,” Spock said with a single nod.

“If you’d come with us, we’ll take your statement. I’ve done the courtesy of contacting your lawyer. He will meet us at the station, along with Detective Evans.”

He returned his gaze to the door to the Emergency room, although he could not see past it. “I cannot leave,” he said quietly.

“I know this is a turbulent time,” she said, her tone softening. “But with Captain Kirk’s assailant now in custody, this cannot wait.”

The bond roiled, unstable and blinding. “I cannot leave,” he said again.

She watched him for a moment. “Is there another reason that keeps you by your captain’s side other than he is your commanding officer?”

He could not see the harm in conceding the answer. “Yes.”

“I see.”

“He is...t’hy’la.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, her surprise palpable. He was not alarmed by it. Such information is normally kept private, but it is to his benefit, and Jim’s, to explain.

“This changes things,” she said. “Chief Larret explained the existing bond between you, Captain Kirk, and Dr. McCoy, but he never mentioned you were Kirk’s t’hy’la.”

“Indeed. He was unaware.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have only recently discovered the connection. The captain requires my presence while he is gravely injured.”

“We will talk somewhere in the hospital,” she assured him. “I believe there is a conference room set aside for this purpose.”

He did not feel reassured by her words since they were meant to placate him for the sake of their investigation, but he would not fail Jim, not even in this. “Very well.”

“Do you need a healer?” she asked. “Anything at all? This can’t be easy for you, if he’s...your t’hy’la.”

He accepted her concern, contemplated her question, out of politeness. Jim required a healer, and he would find one with assistance from those he trusted most.

“Not at this time.” He did not look at the vice admiral, or at the others, as he walked away from the door leading to Jim. McCoy, whose turmoil coursed through the other shared bond like a raging fire, would also have to wait until the interrogation was concluded.

They hurried to catch up, matching his long strides, until they were flanking him.

His heart remained behind.

He was certain that Nyota, who had just arrived and was stricken by the sight of him leaving, would keep it safe.

 

oOo

 

At some point, Leonard had slipped into a fitful doze, his aching head resting against the upholstered back of the chair. He startled each time the door to the Attending Lounge opened, his nerves screaming with apprehension, convinced it was someone coming to tell him Jim had died on the operating room table. Once, a nurse had ventured in and tried to coax him into stretching out on one of the bunks in the on-call room, where he would be more comfortable, but he had shaken his head at her, lips pressed into a tight line, afraid to leave the chair where he was sitting vigil, waiting for news about Jim.

Surely it was a good sign that so much time had ticked by? Or had the hospital staff forgotten that he was waiting, desperate and afraid, for an update? Leonard was afraid to hope, scared that it would all eventually turn to grief and ashes. His eyes already burned with fatigue and repressed tears; if he allowed them to fall, he was afraid they would never stop.

To stop himself from continuing to imagine the worst, he took out his comm and checked it for messages. Perhaps Phil Boyce had left an update for him. Or Spock. He felt isolated in the lounge, yet he had no desire to seek out the public waiting room and put his grief and fear on display for everyone to see.

There was a text from Nyota. _Dr. McCoy, I’m at the hospital. Please contact me as soon as you are out of surgery._

If he contacted her now, what could he say? That he had no idea what was happening with Jim beyond inane generalities? That he had been dismissed from the operating room for causing more damage to Jim? Shame burned in his gut as he remembered how his hands had shook, the laser scalpel glittering and dancing in his unsteady grasp.

Leonard shook his head. No. He couldn’t call Nyota. His hope was rapidly failing and he had no desire to scrape up reassuring platitudes for others, when, as a surgeon, he knew better.

He had just gotten up, intending to find the men’s room and splash some water on his face, when the door opened. Phil Boyce entered silently and slowly made his way over to him. His surgical cap was heavily stained with sweat, and a fine tracery of blood drops dotted his scrub top.

Leonard froze.

Boyce pulled the cap from his head and tossed it into a nearby soiled linen bin with a grimace. “It took several miracles but we managed to get Jim off the table, Leonard. His condition is critical though—extremely critical. I don’t want to give you false hope.”

Relief turned his knees to jelly. _Jim was alive._ “I want to see him.”

Boyce nodded. “Of course. But let’s give the ICU team a few minutes to get him settled first. As you would expect, he’s intubated and on life support. It took us longer than we expected to remove the glass shards and stop the blood loss, which was massive. How the hell did he suffer such injuries?”

“Treadway tossed him through a plate glass window at a bookstore, and the owner of the store shot at it, too. An antique window, so it splintered, instead of breaking into safe pieces. Were you able to find and remove all the glass?”

Boyce rubbed his forehead. “I believe so. We replaced nearly his entire blood volume, Len. He arrested twice on the table. The second time I didn’t think we’d get him back. I had to start him on an agrediphine drip again to stabilize his vitals.”

Leonard’s stomach rolled. “I…I contributed to his blood loss, Phil. I nicked an artery in his abdomen while removing a glass shard. I fixed it…but Jim lost more blood because of me.”

Boyce gave him a sharp look, although his tired eyes were kind. “I know. The other surgeons told me what happened.” He sighed heavily. “Len, despite being physically and emotionally compromised, you made the right call getting Jim into surgery right away. I just wish I could have gotten here sooner, so that you weren’t forced to take the lead. But there was no time to waste and you did the best you could for Jim.”

“I harmed him! I took an oath to do no harm and I broke it!” Leonard’s confession was loud in the quiet room, guilt and remorse causing his voice to shake.

“We all make mistakes. And we learn from them.”

Boyce hesitated, and Leonard wondered if he was thinking of Christine. She, too, had broken rules and made mistakes. Leonard wasn’t sure if he could trust her without reservation, yet the undeniable fact remained that she was a skilled nurse, one he had been proud to have on his team. Would Starfleet take that into account when they decided her fate?

His mentor and colleague shook his head, as if to chase away unwelcome thoughts, before continuing to speak. “Under normal circumstances, yours was preventable. But you weren’t performing treatment under normal circumstances, Len, and we both know it. You’ve been both doctor and nurse for days for Jim, with little progress to show for it; you’ve been dealing with a threatening and stressful personal situation on the homefront; and then add to all of that the guilt you’re feeling for not keeping the agrediphine secure.” Boyce’s eyes softened. “A lesser man would have thrown in the towel, and Jim would have died. But you didn’t and he’s still alive.”

“I didn’t do much. The other doctors—“

“Acted appropriately by removing you from the operating room when they realized you were exhausted. There was no lasting harm done, and nothing will appear in your permanent record—”

“What?” Leonard interrupted, shocked.

“What happened in the OR today will stay in the OR,” Boyce said firmly. “We have more important things requiring our time and energy than that, including saving Captain Kirk’s life.”

Stunned into both relief and silence, Leonard sank back into the chair.

“But you are going to need to find a way to straddle the dual role of friend and CMO,” Boyce continued. “Especially if you want to go back aboard the Enterprise with him, assuming he recovers and resumes the captaincy.”

“He won’t give up,” Leonard whispered hoarsely. “Not after this.”

Boyce offered him a grim smile. “When the worst of this is behind us, come and find me and we’ll talk. I’ve been where you’re at, when I was Christopher’s CMO.”

Leonard swallowed hard.

Before Marcus and John Harrison, before his world, and Jim’s, had become a nightmare, he had believed Jim could survive anything given half a chance. But the exposure to lethal radiation, along with the treatments to suppress Jim’s attempts to reject Harrison’s blood, had taken an enormous toll on his body, both within and without.

Jim had been far from healthy when Treadway attacked him. The agrediphine had been a devil’s bargain. One Jim would now have to pay in full.

“How long…how long will he have to stay on the agrediphine?” The longer the exposure, the harder it would be to wean him off.

Boyce sighed. “No longer than absolutely necessary, although I expect weeks. We both know what the drug is doing to him. Will do to him, if we don’t carefully manage the withdrawal process. But it’s the only thing keeping him alive right now. That, and a good half dozen other medications.”

Leonard’s gut twisted. “What about his other treatments? The ones rebuilding his immune system? He’s nearly due for the next round.”

“I read your notes. I know his schedule.” The exhaustion around his eyes seemed to deepen. “I’ve placed Jim in a medical coma while we treat the cerebral damage. It will heal more quickly that way. Keeping him deeply unconscious will also allow us to reduce further psychological addiction to the agrediphine. If he’s still alive when the injections are due, we’ll administer them while he’s still in the coma. It will be less traumatic for him that way, and we can manage the side effects more easily.” Boyce shrugged unhappily. “It’s all a house of cards, Len. You know that, as well as I do. The smallest thing could bring it—and him—down.”

“… _Humpty-Dumpty took a great fall. And all the kings horses, and all the kings men, couldn’t put Humpty together again…”_

Leonard wrenched his thoughts away from disastrous nursery rhymes and back to the situation at hand. He’d brought Jim back from the dead once already. Conventional wisdom held that the first time was always the hardest with any difficult task. He’d do it again if necessary. Because life without Jim would be a grey wasteland.

Leonard squared his shoulders. “I want to see him,” he said. “Now, Phil.”

“You’re sure you’re up to this, Len?”

_Always. Now, and forever._

“Yes,” he said, and got to his feet. The room swam for a moment before steadying.

Firming his jaw along with his resolve, Leonard followed his friend and mentor from the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would love to hear from you! I will get to previous comments, I just beg your patience with me as I catch up. Also, while I was researching for this particular chapter, I came across information about Andorians that surprised me. They are quite susceptible to damage caused by phaser fire...so with that in mind, I tried to adjust my OC, who probably wouldn’t be a cop if she was only Andorian. 
> 
> More Jim centric chapters to come. :) 
> 
> I must take a moment here to make a note of utmost importance...
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to my dear friend, Xiiva. 
> 
> Xiiva, you are loved. You are important. You are valued. You matter to so many people in this fandom. My heart hurts that you are suffering so, and I pray that you find comfort through the people around you, that you get well and are well in this life. You are precious to us. Hold on to your hope. 
> 
> To my dear readers, if you know Xiiva and/or read her work, and even if you don’t, please leave her some love in the comments to [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5820931/chapters/32216130) post of one of her stories. I don’t know if she will read her comments in the near future, but I pray that she does. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for taking the time to do so.


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